#cerel

[permaculturaorganica]

Permacultura & Filosofia: un sogno procastinato genera mostri

Il vocabolario intellettuale in voga presso il City System, è: pagare, aspettare, temporeggiare, rimandare, rinviare, sognare, commerciare, pensare, dire, rimproverare, lavorare, vendere, comunicare, studiare, ballare, sperare. Si sottace spesso il più primitivo«fare». L’esistenza di questa generazioneè congelata Tutti i migliori propositi vengono sistematicamente messi in “stand-by” in attesa…

[shellsnroses]

Another commission for Cerelle Lannister and Aemond Targaryen

[siravalondulac]

sapphire steel | chapter two - hatred

j. snow x fem!oc

summary: cerelle continues to visit jon, and he is furious about it

tags: smut (f/m, hate sex, p in v, oral (m!recieving), anal, doggy), extremely dubious consent, canon divergence - rhaegar won the trident

word count: 1634

author's note: merry christmas btw

masterlist | additional works masterlist

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Despite any sense of logic, Cerelle returned the next night. And the next. And the next. And every night afterwards.

Jon tried to get her to leave permanently. He used every bit of knowledge he had acquired over the years, every dirty tactic that had made even the most dedicated ladies flee him.

But none of them worked on Cerelle.

The first week he ordered her to undress herself, climb on the bed, and let herself be fucked by him. Each of those nights he got rougher and rougher with her, spanked her until she certainly could not sit the following day, strangled her throat until her arms finally buckled underneath her weight, and slammed his dick so far into her it hurt even him. He twisted her nipples, pressed her face into the pillow, trapped her arms behind her back.

But no matter what he did to her in any position, she returned the coming night.

Once he fucked her so long the sun rose when he finally collapsed onto the bed. She looked disgusting, could barely move, yet still curtsied and appeared again in the evening.

Then he started ignoring the bed.

He pushed her onto the ground as soon as she entered, hicked up her dress, and fucked her until his knees bled and his cock had emptied himself into her three times.

Four nights he tried this approach, yet nothing changed.

Several times he awaited her when she entered, grabbed her arm, threw her to the ground, and slammed his dick into her throat. Over and over again.

The first time in that position he finished in her mouth - it had only been the second time with her lips around his cock, after all - and forced her to swallow his load. The sight of this picture-perfect maiden doing something so obscene made him hard as a rock and so he repeated the action right then and there.

She did not even bat an eye.

(The most fear she ever showed was when he forced her to drink alcohol, and even then it was only a fleeting glimpse across her face.)

He started getting creative with where he would unload his spent. First directly onto her face, of course, the white substance sticking to her cheeks and eyelashes and lips, and he only barely suppressed a laugh when he sent her back to her room immediately. With direct orders not to clean herself until then.

His semen painted her tits, her dress, her hair, her hands, but every time she left his rooms with her head raised high.

The first time he took her on the bed again he laid her on her back with her head hanging off the edge and fucked her mouth like this. The constant usage of her throat had made it open up, so that night she took him deeper than ever before. His hands pawed at her small tits as his hips snapped against her face, her gurgles and gagging like music to his ears.

Three bottles of the strongest Northern ale he could find in his blood, he dragged her to the bed and fucked her like that first night. Except that his hand had started wandering, and after a lot of moans on his side - and a lot of nothing on hers - his thumb pressed against her asshole.

No gasp, no sound. He spat on the puckered hole, and with a lot of insistence and patience managed to pass the first ring of muscle with one finger.

Sometimes he wished to see her face when he fucked her. A mouth could be easily closed but muscle movements were less readily controlled.

But then he would have to look in her blue eyes again - deep, haunting, full of dark promises - and he would rather hug his father than do that.

Her walls clamped down heavily on him when he tried to pull his cock free of her wet heat, and he knew she likely tried to keep him from going through with his plan, in any way except for begging out loud.

He inserted two of his fingers into her cunt to collect her wetness, and then pressed one of them to her asshole.

“Do you want this, Cerelle?” They had not shared a word in four days, and the sound of his voice sounded foreign to himself. “Do you want me to fuck your ass?”

One finger penetrated the hole, slowly moving into her tight channel until it could not go any further. He pulled it back out before jamming it in again. When he was able to move without problem, he added the second.

“I am for my prince to do as he pleases.” The first time in nine days he heard her deep voice. “I stand in his service. Whatever he deems fit to do with my body he shall.”

Instructions given by his father, no doubt. The thought made him angry.

He curled his fingers inside her, opened and closed them, jammed them in and out, until he ripped them out and placed his cockhead at her entrance.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he heard her take in a deep breath.

He wanted to slam inside of her, bury himself to the hilt in one thrust, but her ass was tighter than her cunt the day he had deflowered it. So he was forced to advance slowly in the beginning.

Despite what his reputation or the odd gossip might indicate, he did not like fucking a woman's ass. A cunt was made to have his cock inserted - the squelch, the quivering of the walls, the perfect fit. Sure, he enjoyed the other holes women - and men, on the odd occasion - had to offer, but he mainly took those as an exertion of power. A claim he could stake.

That night, he finished deep in her guts, and had to grin as he watched her walk away with a slight stumble.

Cerelle’s body seemed to slowly get used to his - and his to hers, as terrifying as that notion might be - so it should not have surprised him when she peaked on his cock multiple times herself. It usually happened on nights he did not stop at one turn, or when his hands wandered a bit too much.

The first time the sudden squeezing of her walls had taken him by such surprise he had finished early like an inexperienced maiden. Thinking she could get actual pleasure out of their interactions, despite her seeming indifference, left him reeling.

He was curious to try again, see what exactly caused her seemingly random peaks of pleasure, but then he drowned himself in more alcohol, and the thought faded.

One night, when he had her pressed against the wall, cock in her cunt and hand around her throat, he realised he hated her.

Hated her impassive face, hated the way she never made a sound besides slight gasps here and there, hated how she never spoke unless asked- no, commanded to, hated how she simply took everything he did to her, and more than anything, he hated how she returned every night.

What did she want from him? What could she possibly have to gain from this?

He watched her dress from the security of his blankets.

He hated her golden hair and how she never made the effort to style it, hated her perfect skin that never seemed to keep a mark for longer than three days, hated the red dress she always wore, and oh, how he hated her blue eyes.

Why did she never show any emotion towards him? Why could she not fight back?

He pounded her cunt from behind, his mind filled with all the unanswered questions that had arisen over these last weeks. Moons?

Everyone despised him, that was simply part of who he was. The Black Dragon, more Stark than Targaryen, a bastard who had caused the deaths of thousands of innocents, who had killed his mother in an effort to simply exist. Their hatred was what kept him alive.

The candle on the bedside wavered with their movements, every punch of him met with a flicker of it. His pillows were thrown wildly over the bed and the ground, his blankets bunched around his knees. The bed hit the wall with every thrust.

How could his furniture show more reaction to him?

She was slick, and warm, and a hole that did not object. He should be happy. He did not have to pay for her. Whatever he wanted, he got. For the first time in his life.

He grabbed her hips, burying his nails in her skin, and threw her onto her back. Slamming his dick back into her, his hands circled around her wrists and pressed them into the mattress. Their faces were so, so close, yet there was no fear in hers. Only confusion.

“Why won't you hate me?” he sobbed.

“If my prince wants me to.”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and came.

They laid there, bodies pressed together, her skin cold despite his furious fucking. He should move, but he was too tired.

Cock still buried in her, he fell asleep.

She was gone in the morning, any trace of her vanished as if she never existed. Someone had laid his head on a pillow and pulled up the blankets to cover his nude body.

When the servant came to bring him a new flagon of some wine, Jon gruffed out the order to find Cerelle and tell her to not come again unless he called for her. Then he vomited up a liquid reeking eerily similar to the ale of last night, and fell unconscious right after.

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author's note: i have no idea when i'll be able to update again as exam week is coming up, but i'll try at least one chapter a month

[queen--kenobi]

SCREAMING AND CRYING I got both my commissions from @felrija back, and y'all!!! I cannot express how much I love them, these are both absolutely perfect. They are absolutely gorgeous and just... exactly what I pictured

I cannot get over how in love Tyland looks with Elayna in the first one, and the second one is just !!! Oh I love how both Elayna and Cerelle look, and how they're looking at each other and I just !!!!!!!! Thank you so much

I put the reference photos under the cut so y'all can see how amazing these are. Genuinely I cannot express how perfect they are and how much I love them I literally want to frame them

[coldraindropsss]

Johanna Westerling, Cerelle Lannister, Tyshara Lannister

[sophiemariepl]

Idk how much truth there is to that statement but this idea lives rent-free in my head 😂🙈

[alyrie-targaryen]

Alyrie's Ladies-In-Waiting

Bethany Hightower (Played by Holliday Grainger), Daughter of Lord Ormund Hightower

Sansara Tarly (Played by Amelia Gething), Younger Sister of Lady Sam, Daughter of Lord Tarly

Maris Baratheon (Played by Sai Bennett), Third Daughter of Borros Baratheon, One of the Four Storms

Valaena Velaryon (Played by Stephanie Levi-John), Daughter of Aethan Velaryon, Niece of Corlys and Vaemond Velaryon

Tyshara Lannister (Played by Tessa Bonham Jones), Heiress of Casterly Rock, Eldest Child of Lord Jason Lannister

Cerelle Lannister (Played by Tamzin Merchant), Second Daughter of Lord Jason Lannister

Alysanne Blackwood (Played by Anna Popplewell), "Black Aly", Lady of House Blackwood, Sister of Lord Samwell Blackwood and Willem Blackwood

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

Wanted Site Connection:

home — navigate — wanted — discord — apply — directory — faq

We are No-Dance!AU and politics, family, and court-drama focused RP. To join, check out our main site, and find out who our court would like to see on our Most Wanted page, send us a raven with any questions and once you're ready to apply, and then join us for plotting and OOC-Chat on our Discord!!

Cerenna is particularly wanted by her older sisters Lady Cerelle Lady Tyshara and Lady Cerissa as well as by Princess Visenya, Princess Jaehaera, Joss Westerling, Violet Vance, Penny Greyjoy, and Jocie Connington.

Note: Character traits, faceclaim, and details are suggestions and can be reworked to a certain extent if discussed with the current members of the RP!

Character Biography Under the Cut

The fifth and second youngest daughter of Lord Jason and Lady Johanna, Cerenna is 11, and a court-companion of Princess Visenya, but has otherwise been largely spared from her father's harsh ambitionas one of the youngest children in a family of many girls . A highly extroverted child and very clever for her age, Cerenna's favorite activity is to constantly up against doors in search of the latest gossip. Despite not being privvy to most of the whispers passed between her older sisters, she always manages to unearth the most recent news from King's Landing to pass around with her friends, even though they don't quite yet understand why "Lady Jocasta's belly has swelled because of the stable boy". Uncharacteristically for their family, Lady Cerenna lacks in her musical talent, though Cerelle and Leila have often tried to help her learn. On her father's last name day, Jason allowed Cerenna play her high harp, which left every noble in attendance horrified. However, she is very bright, especially in matters of history and philosophy, having memorized the names and stations of several dozen Houses throughout the kingdom, alongside the titles of all their castles, and is an avid reader with a passion for novels. Suggested faceclaim: Maria Valverde in Los Borgias

[tyshara-the-lioness]

｡𖦹°‧ BLOOD RUNS TICKER THAN ALE 𖡜̸.ᐟ

(Starter with @cerellelannister2)

Cerelle hadn’t wanted to come to the tavern. Too noisy, too crowded, too… sticky. But Tyshara had insisted, dragging her through the door with a grip that brooked no argument and a grin that screamed trouble.

“Cerelle, you need to live a little. When was the last time you had a drink?” Tyshara asked, plopping down onto a wooden bench that creaked ominously under her weight. “And I don’t mean those fancy little sips of wine you call drinking.”

“I like wine,” Cerelle replied, daintily wiping a spot of something—was that ale? Honey? Something worse?—off the table before sitting. “Besides, who in their right mind drinks here?”

“The fun people,” Tyshara said, raising her hand to signal the barkeep. “Two pints of your strongest ale!”

“Strongest?” Cerelle repeated, a little too sharply. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Oh, hush. It’ll be fine. If it’s too much, I’ll finish yours,” Tyshara said, leaning back like she owned the place.

When the mugs arrived, Cerelle eyed hers like it might bite. It smelled like… well, like the tavern itself. Damp wood, questionable decisions, and regret. Tyshara, on the other hand, lifted hers with both hands, taking a long, exaggerated gulp.

“By the Seven, that’s awful,” she gasped, slamming the mug down. “But also kind of amazing. Your turn!”

Cerelle sniffed the ale again. Maybe if she just tipped it back fast enough, she wouldn’t taste it. She took a small, hesitant sip—and immediately started coughing.

“Sweet mercy,” she wheezed, clutching at her chest. “How are you *drinking* this?”

Tyshara grinned. “With enthusiasm. Try again!”

Cerelle shot her a murderous glare but took another sip, this one larger. It wasn’t *as* bad the second time.

“There you go,” Tyshara said, raising her mug in a toast. “To reconnecting, your grace.”

“To surviving this drink,” Cerelle muttered, clinking her mug half-heartedly.

[valarmorghulisrp]

Everywhere in the world they hurt little girls. Until they no longer are.

[cerellelannister2]

Slipping through my fingers, a closed starter with: @johannaoftherock

    CERELLE GREEN'S EYES WIDENED WHEN SHE FOUND HER LADY MOTHER, LADY JOHANNA LANNISTER, WAITING FOR HER IN HER SOLAR. Cerelle's heart stopped beating for a few seconds. Then her pink lips let out a small sigh of relief, and her lungs could finally savor the air around the solar once again. Cerelle then took a quick glance again in her mother's direction and walked until she was in front of her.

    Cerelle then smiled involuntarily.

    Lady Cerelle didn't run until she reached Johanna's arm, her safe haven, like she used to do when she was a mere girl carrying the weight of Casterly Rock on her shoulders. Despite her mother not being fond of physical contact. Certainly, those moments were one of the few instances that Cerelle's perfect mask could be put aside.

    It was one of the instances where she could be just a child.

    Not the replacement for the firstborn son Lord Jason Lannister, her father lacked.

    Not someone's future wife.

    Not the future lady consort to a castle in the middle of nowhere that didn't matter to her.

    In those precious moments, Cerelle was just herself.

    Her mother's daughter.

    Cerelle let out another sigh and carefully unbuttoned her blue coat trimmed with fur, putting it away. Cerelle then sat on the armchair next to the couch Lady Johanna Lannister was sitting on. Cerelle's emerald eyes carefully studied the Lady Consort of Casterly Rock before speaking up. Her slender fingers carefully played with the golden chain of her necklace. She didn't know exactly the motive behind her mother's visit; however, Cerelle could only guess. House Lannister was going through a complicated moment.

    Tyshara, Cerelle's younger sister and one of her favorite siblings, desired most of all to marry Rodrik; however, nobody in their family seemed to approve. Even though Cerelle supported their union, Tyshara has to be happy after all.

    Cerelle didn't want to get married, or at least, not in the way she would have to do it. However, her father, Lord Jason Lannister, had given her away like one of his coins he used during his business transactions. However, Cerelle had avoided marriage, despite being betrothed, for long months now. But her waiting had, unfortunately, finally come to an end.

    Maybe her mother was defending her, protecting her from her dreadful fate. But how could Cerelle be sure? Who else would look for her happiness—aside from her sisters—and support her decision?

    "Mother, it's good to see you," Cerelle said softly, not raising her voice at any given moment. "What do I owe this visit?"

[siravalondulac]

sapphire steel | chapter one - a visitor

j. snow x fem!oc

summary: one night, a strange woman shows up in jon's chambers

tags: smut (f/m, rough sex, oral (m receiving), p in v), dubious consent, canon divergence - rhaegar won the trident

word count: 2499

author's note: in this au, rhaegar won the battle of the trident and became king. lyanna still died, and rhaegar mostly abandoned jon because he wanted a visenya, but still made him live in king's landing. cersei died birthing a daughter no one knows the father of. aegon, rhaenys, and elia are alive and in the red keep.

masterlist | additional works masterlist

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The cold night air stung against his skin and the alcohol burned his throat. Every new gust of wind moved his robe this way and that, exposing his bare chest to the snowflakes falling onto his balcony.

Jon wished it would kill him. But his father always said he was the blood of the dragon - he would not die from the cold.

He wished it would kill him, too. His father, King Rhaegar Targaryen, banisher of the attempted usurper, who had caused a rebellion only to crush it later on. It had been him who had cursed Jon to this wretched life, the black dragon of his otherwise perfect court.

If only he were allowed to leave.

He took another swig of his bottle.

Such had become his routine. During the day he would get reminded of his doomed bastard blood that had almost brought the realm to ruin, and during the night he would attempt to drown the stares of the courtiers in alcohol and whores.

A knock sounded on the door.

He groaned and threw his head against the stone he was leaning against, yet stayed conscious.

Another knock.

Perhaps the time had come for him to jump off his balcony and take a burden off his father's shoulder.

A third knock, then the door opened and someone stepped inside.

“Go away!”

He was not in the mood for a lecture from his father, or pity tears from his brother, or sorrowful looks from his sister.

Whoever had entered his room made no sound, did not try to talk to him. Perhaps a new tactic by his father? He looked around the stone pillar, ready to curse him out, yet no word left his mouth as he beheld the figure.

A woman. With blonde hair. Dressed in red.

He wanted to laugh. Another attempt by his father to keep him off the Street of Silk and not tarnish the reputation of his House further. This must be the, what? Tenth, eleventh noble woman to be sent his way to hopefully become his lover.

He had made a game out of it a while ago. How much could these women endure before breaking? His father never learned, he kept sending them.

What did it matter? He could use a good fuck, and at least now he did not have to walk through the freezing city to find a brothel.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and entered his room.

The woman stood unmoving beside the only lit candle, allowing him to get a proper look at her.

Her curly hair was more golden than mere blonde, spilling freely over her shoulders and down to her waist. The lines of her face were sharp, her cheekbones high and her jawline well-defined. She had pale, unmarred skin, with nary a blemish or inconsistency in sight. The deep red dress was a simple thing, yet off-the-shoulder and with a low neckline, clinging to her body.

He emptied the bottle, then smashed it to the ground.

If he had startled her, she did not show.

Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey, he stepped towards her. She did not look at him, instead staring ahead into the endless distance. He raised a hand to let it hover over her arm, then traced the fabric. Still no reaction.

He started circling her. “Did my father send you?”

“Yes, my prince.”

Her voice was deeper than he thought, not quite fitting to a face like hers.

His hand glid through the soft curls falling down her back. “And do you know why?”

“Yes, my prince.”

“Say it.”

“I am to serve you in whatever way you choose.”

How cute. Dancing around the subject, not being able to say the filthy words his father had instructed her with. Likely one of those pious maidens who prayed to the gods every waking moment.

“What is your name?”

“Cerelle Hill, my prince.”

A bastard for a bastard, how fitting. Certainly, he carried the Targaryen name, yet not even the king's word could wash out this kind of shame.

He squinted as a wave of pain hit his head. The alcohol clearly did not work as intended anymore.

“And whose are you, Cerelle?” He drawled her name. “Perhaps the great Tywin Lannister’s?”

She did not even flinch when his hand grabbed her ass.

“His granddaughter.”

Faintly, he remembered tales of Cersei Lannister, and how she had died birthing a child no one had been able to catch sight of. Yet the haze on his mind made recalling such information difficult.

He stepped in front of her again, her gaze still directed on something far beyond him.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snapped towards him. Their blue was bright yet cold as ice, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of his chamber. No fear laid in them. No emotion at all, if he thought about it.

“Usually my women show more enthusiasm.”

“If my prince requires me to act differently he need only say so.”

Did she mean to challenge him? Perhaps as the granddaughter of the ruthless Tywin Lannister she had caught a lesson or two. Bastard or not.

He continued his slow path around her unmoving figure, and her eyes followed him until he stood behind her.

Carelessly pushing her hair to the side he pulled at the laces of her dress, and after four, five tugs let the fabric fall freely to the ground.

She wore neither shift nor underclothes. Distantly, he wondered if that had been an instruction or her own intuition. She was thin, little flesh clinging to her bones, yet the curves of her ass and hips were enough to provide a proper hold should he grab them later on.

He let his fingers glide across her bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he stepped to her front again.

Her breasts were small yet firm, the nipples rosy and perky due to the cold wafting through the open balcony door. He let his thumb glide over one of them and then pulled, yet found no reaction in her face again.

“Are you a maiden?”

“Yes, my prince.”

Perhaps he should think of something special for her, a grander way to deflower her than what he had planned, yet found no solution through the fog settling on his mind.

The normal procedure, then.

“On your knees.”

She followed his command without question while he started unlacing his pants. Whatever this conversation had been had not aroused him in the slightest - despite the beautiful body before him - so it took a few hard tugs of his fist to make his cock stand at attention.

Cerelle watched his movements. Nothing more, just watched.

He held the head to her lips.

“Suck.”

She opened her mouth slowly, tongue peeking out, and took only the very tip inside her. Then she let it pop out.

Jon should have been annoyed at her languid pace, yet could not help his curiosity as he watched the careful movements, how she explored his dick as if it were a sharp weapon, ready to cut her at a moment's notice. She let her tongue trace his underside, applying ever so much pressure on its veins, garnering low hisses and whines from him. Then she closed her lips around his length again and he audibly groaned at the warmth. She moved back and forth slowly, every time bringing more of his cock into her mouth, the spit glistening in the light of the candle.

He was fully hard now, all the blood of his body moving towards his dick and making his legs quiver. His length throbbed, red and swollen, and he knew this had to end.

He had a reputation to defend, after all.

Her hair was soft under his fingers as he grabbed it, pulling shortly to try to make her gasp, and then slammed himself into her mouth. She gagged, her first real reaction that night.

Fucking finally.

He set a brutal pace, tightening his hold on her hair to keep her steady as he snapped his hips forward again and again, burying his dick further every time it entered her wet, hot mouth.

She had submitted to him almost instantly, opening herself up as far as possible, and then taking whatever he gave her. Tears flowed out of her eyes, mixing with the spit spilling from her mouth, but her body had no other reaction to him.

He was not remotely as quiet, moaning, cursing, grunting with every thrust, gasping whenever even the smallest part of his cock entered her tight throat. It had been too long since he had gotten his dick wet (three days) and his inexperience showed.

Too soon did he near his release, the ache in his cock almost unbearable, and he wanted nothing more than to slam himself deep, deep into Cerelle's throat and force her to swallow all of him, or even to paint her beautiful face with his spent.

Yet she was a maiden, and as such he needed to save himself for her cunt.

He quickly ripped her head back, her little gasp like music to his ears as he gripped the base of his dick tightly to prevent his release. The cold still seeping in through the open balcony door burned his cock, yet if he was uncomfortable she had to be as well.

Panting audibly, his bare chest raising and falling rapidly, he tilted Cerelle's head back.

Her open lips were red and swollen, her cheeks pink and wet with her spit and tears, yet her eyes still stared up at him. That terrifying blue, dangerous as a glacier, signaling his doom if he wasn't careful.

“On the bed.”

How she still displayed such poise after kneeling on the floor and having her poor little throat abused he did not understand, yet her walk to his bed looked close to normal. He almost fell over simply standing and watching her.

Let's see how you'll behave when I'm done with you.

He quickly discarded his robe and pants, and stumbled after her.

“On all fours.”

Her form was impeccable - straight back, head lowered, hands and knees planted firmly on the mattress. He kneeled behind her and let his hands trace the shape of her buttocks, before bringing his hand down hard on her pale skin. He slapped her again and again, until the marks had turned from pink to bright red.

The impact - echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room - moved her body forward, yet had no more effect on her.

He lowered his hand and started rubbing quick circles on her pearl, attempting to make her at least a little wet before entering her to make it more comfortable for him.

Grabbing her hips so tightly he knew it would leave marks, he lined up his cock with her hole, and slammed his entire length inside in one thrust.

Perhaps she had cried out. He didn't know, for the feel of a warm cunt finally around his length again, especially after having to endure the freezing cold in his room, punched such a loud moan from his throat he was sure the entire castle heard.

He stayed like that, up to the hilt within her walls, dick throbbing painfully, until he was certain he had soaked up the moment completely. Then he slowly pulled out until only the tip remained inside her.

A few drops of blood were smeared on his dick, confirming her assertion that she was a maiden. Had been. He had broken her in officially now.

His grip tightened even more, fingers burying into her skin, wishing to leave permanent marks.

Without hesitating a moment more, he started violently and brutally thrusting into her, never slowing down, never stopping, never giving either of them a second's reprieve.

At some point, a gust of wind extinguished the candle, cloaking the room in darkness. He didn't care. The squelch of his cock hammering into her cunt and the feel of her tight, wet walls squeezing down on him was all he could ever need.

She held him so exquisitely, pulsating around his throbbing dick, grabbing his length so tightly he had half a mind to stop and stay still inside of her the entire night.

Cerelle never collapsed to the bed as her predecessors had always done at this point in the night. She remained hard and steadfast as ice. No sounds spilled from her mouth either, none of the whines, moans, grunts, and curses spat from his own lips.

Too soon did he near his release again. He didn't know whether to fault the alcohol, the previous stunt with Cerelle's throat, his prolonged abstinence from sex, or the cold. Or perhaps the feel of a maiden cunt around his cock.

He sped up his thrusts one final time, his hips slapping against her ass, his dick reaching deeper inside her than before.

Close, he was so close.

Jon leaned forward, planting his hands on the mattress beside hers, and bit down hard on her neck as he came.

His spent coated her inner walls as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, his teeth buried deep in her skin and ensuring he left a visible mark on her. No one would see his cum dripping down her legs, nor that she was no longer a maiden, but this she could not hide.

He stayed like that, bodies pressed tightly together, skin against skin, her walls tight around his cock. A small part of him wanted to continue right away, fuck her through the night and into the day until she wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

Slowly, savouring every inch of her beautiful cunt, he started pulling out. The cold grabbed ahold of him almost immediately, and he only barely avoided burying himself inside her heat again. He could tie her to him and ensure his cock would never be cold or dry again.

His dick freed himself from her hole with a plop, and he fell down on the bed beside her.

Now he wished the candle was still burning, longing to see her face - had she cried, did she look at him with hatred or awe, how red were her cheeks? Or did she wear her neutral expression again, one that not even such violent sex could punch off her?

The mattress moved, then he heard her slowly walk across the stone floor. Some shuffling.

He pulled a blanket over his body, curling up on his side.

“Tomorrow. Same time.”

He would have snow in his room when he awoke, yet he didn't care.

“Yes, my prince.”

Light fell through the small gap created by the open door, yet she was gone before he caught a proper look at her.

He pulled up another blanket from the end of the bed, and fell unconscious almost immediately after, the alcohol lulling him into a restless sleep.

previous | next

author's note: i don't know when i'll be able to update this fic as i'm currently a bit busy with uni.

in the meantime you could read the fic this au is based on -> meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight

[queen--kenobi]

Wheel of Fortune: Prologue

Story summary: Elayna Reyne often imagines herself being someone and making a name for herself but only in the way young girls do. Unfortunately, when Elayna makes her way to King's Landing as one of Cerelle Lannister's ladies-in-waiting, Elayna finds dreams come with a price.

Pairings: Cerelle Lannister x OFC (Elayna Reyne), OC (Tymon Lannister) x OFC (Elayna Reyne), eventual Tyland Lannister x OC

Chapter summary: News finds its way to Elayna. Some of it is good but most of it is bad. Elayna learns when it rains, it pours.

Chapter warnings: implied NSFT (wlw action, BDSM themes, D/s dynamics), discussions of domestic violence, some suicidal ideation, and sexual harassment. Also Tymon. Yeah, a lot for a prologue I know.

Author's note: Hi hello it's finally here! I know it's taken 5ever and a day, but it's here! I'm so excited to introduce everyone to Elayna in canon and Tymon as well. I want to thank @writingbylee for being my cheerleader and helping me since day one with Elayna you have no idea how much that means to me. I also want to thank @baba-fett and @emilykaldwen for being willing to listen to me try and figure all this out

Waves crash against the unyielding cliffside.

Elayna sighs. She looks down to the waters below. Jagged rocks stick up from the ocean, the edges sharp and dangerous despite the weathering. Elayna tilts her head. In the dying light, the areas where the rocks cluster almost look like teeth to her, the giant gaping maw of an unknown beast.

What would it be like to die upon those rocks?

What would it be like to kill someone upon the rocks? How long would someone suffer in the blistering sun and salty air? Would they die upon impact, or would it break their back and render them immobile, unable to stop the slow creeping of the Stranger?

She bites the inside of her lip. The pain stops the morbid thoughts, she finds. More and more as of late, her brain keeps coming back to them. They circle her brain like vultures awaiting the dying. Elayna closes her eyes and inhales slowly. Some days, she cannot tell if she wishes to kill or be killed. She thinks it is the latter of the two. She has no true wish to die, only to escape her suffering. Her life has become a prison she cannot escape from no matter how much she tries.

Then again. Is it truly a prison when she has willingly given her captor the keys? When the prison is of her own making?

She exhales. She pauses and rubs her face. 

If only she could talk to Cerelle. If only she could make her see...

“Elayna!”

The familiar voice makes Elayna's hairs stand on end. Elayna wants to ignore him. Maybe he'll go away if she pretends he isn't there. Of course, it has never stopped him before, so why would it now? Slowly, Elayna lifts her head.

Tymon walks towards her. He seems to be in a good mood. A smile graces his features. The wind blows his hair gently. Elayna looks at his eyes. His eyes turn first when he's angry; he can keep the smile up and make it seem genuine even when his eyes make it clear he wants nothing more than to commit an act of unspeakable violence just by looking him in the eye. His jaw betrays him next. 

His smile is always the last thing to go. 

“Tymon.” Elayna tries her best to answer his smile. She tries to force it to reach her eyes. It feels too tight, too fake. A surge of panic overtakes her. What if he sees it's fake? Will he ignore it? Will he pretend to not see it until he can use her lack of enthusiasm against her? What if it provokes his ire? She blinks. Her eyes must show her fear, she can't have that. 

Tymon laughs. When Elayna opens her eyes, she sees him holding his hands up. 

“Woah.” He sounds as if he is calming down a spooked horse, not a human being. She can hear the clear amusement in his tone. Elayna bites down on the inside of her cheek. She cannot sneer at him; no one else is around, and she is too close to the edge of the parapet. Despite her early thoughts, Elayna has no desire to be pushed off the castle.

“I did not mean to startle you. My sincerest apologies.”

“Think nothing of it. I was just under the impression I was alone.”

“One might begin to think you want to be alone.” Tymon stops right beside her. The sleeve of his doublet almost brushes against the sleeve of her dress. Elayna's skin crawls. “I noticed you left particularly early.”

“I needed some fresh air is all.” Elayna looks out towards the sea. “I spoke with Jeyne Marbrand. The incense they use in their Sept must be quite... strong.”

Elayna sniffs delicately as if to prove her point. Tymon lets out a small chuckle. He places his forearms on the low wall. 

“Yes, I have noticed that as well.” Tymon turns his head to the side. His green eyes inspect her. “Where is Cerelle? I thought if I found you, I might find her.”

Elayna swallows.

“Cerelle is talking with one of the Tarbeck daughters, I believe.” Gods above, she hates she knows this. “There's talk of one of them being brought in as one of Tyshara's ladies.”

Tymon hums. He looks back out to the ocean once more. He inches his forearm towards her. Elayna tries to subtly move her arm away. She reaches up and adjusts her necklace before placing her arm down. 

“Mother spoke to me today.” 

“Oh?” Elayna arches an eyebrow. “What did the two of you speak about?”

“Many things.” Tymon fidgets with one of the many rings on his fingers. “Mostly of the future.”

Elayna nods. Within a fortnight, Cerelle and Tymon would be celebrating their eight and tenth name day. The feast tonight kicks off the events to follow. The future looms large over everything now; all the politics and planning finally moving into action. A bitter, acrid taste surges into Elayna’s mouth. For all that Johanna cares about Cerelle, she will also use her, as is the way. A son ensures the line while a daughter ensures treaties and potential comfort in old age. 

She knows what will most likely become of Cerelle, but she has no idea what awaits her. For years, she and Cerelle would joke about having to find two brothers to marry. Naturally, Cerelle would marry the eldest and Elayna the younger. Elayna presses her lips together. She gazes at the far away horizon, feeling as if she herself is as much of a distance away from her own body as the horizon. Those plans... Well. They were no more.

She hears shifting, the rustle of clothes against the stone wall. Elayna forces herself back into her body. She turns her head. Tymon now stands with his back to the wall, facing away from the sea and into the courtyard. He crosses his arms.

“The plan is for you to accompany Cerelle to King's Landing when we leave.” 

“I'm aware.” Elayna tries to keep her tone pleasant. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Tymon turns his head to look at her. He evaluates her for a long moment. 

“Did you hear that from my mother or sister?”

“Cerelle told me. Why?”

Tymon smirks. “Then you don't know the good news yet.”

“Good news?” Elayna huffs a laugh. “Let me guess. Your father found an uninhabited island and named it after Cerelle?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“You're right, that is ridiculous. He named it after Tyshara.”

Tymon rolls his eyes. “I am the first born son.”

“Yes, but I've been under the impression islands are she's. On account of them being pretty to look at.” Elayna sees a brief flash of irritation on Tymon's face. “So the good news is not an island.”

“No, it isn't an island. That would be excellent news, but this is better.”

“Better than an island? Hmm. Dalton Greyjoy dying. Ideally a slow and incredibly painful death.”

“Alas. One can only wish.”

“Cerelle is betrothed to a Hightower? Is that it?”

Tymon scoffs. Elayna bites the inside of her lip to keep from giggling. As dangerous as it can be, she does enjoy annoying Tymon. He thinks himself to be so smart, to the point he corrects anyone he deems lower than himself. Yet, somehow, he falls into every single conversational trap she creates. It's almost as if he can't help it; he has to try to make someone else look like an idiot, even at the expense of making a fool of himself. 

The apple never falls far from the tree.

“No. It is not Cerelle marrying a Hightower.” Tymon sniffs almost delicately. Annoyance laces every word. Elayna has no doubt in her mind if she pushes more, she will push too far. Normally, she might relish in the chance to pick a fight. Instead, she decides to play nice. “I'm sure mother has higher ambitions for her.”

“What is the good news, then?”

Tymon looks at Elayna. His gaze feels intense. Elayna looks back at him. 

“Once Cerelle is settled and has found a husband, mother suggested you might come back. With us.”

Elayna's heart doesn't just sink; it plummets. It drops from her chest to her stomach the same way a boulder falls from a cliff. 

“I'm... I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“Don't play dumb with me, Elayna.” Tymon smiles, and for the first time, his smile itself scares her. “Isn't this what you wanted? I would think so, given all the times you have tormented and teased me. Finally, Mother has come to her senses about everything as well.”

“Tymon, I genuinely do not know what you're talking about.”

Tymon sighs. It's one of the most patronizing sounds Elayna has heard. It makes her skin crawl and jaw tighten.

“Mother wants to ensure you and Cerelle have ample time together before Cerelle is married. Once Cerelle is settled, our betrothal will be made official and announced.”

Elayna instantly regrets not jumping off the castle and onto the rocks below. A sour, bitter taste floods her mouth. She stares at him. 

“We're...?”

“To be married. Do keep up, Elayna. I cannot have a wife who is slow on the upkeep.”

Elayna's years of practice prevent her from snarling at him. Her upper lip still twitches. Her jaw clenches. She glares daggers at him. 

“I'm not slow!” She pauses. Tymon gives her a look as if he might hit her should she say more. “I am merely... surprised. I wouldn't have thought I would have been a contender.”

“I thought my fondness for you was evident.” Tymon tilts his head. He almost seems genuinely confused as to why Elayna doesn't understand. “ ‘Tis a good match.”

“Surely there are better matches. One of the Lefford's daughters per-”

Elayna's next words are muffled. Tymon surges forward and kisses her. The beginnings of his beard feel rough and unpleasant against her skin, as do his lips. He takes advantage of her parted lips to try and slip his tongue into her mouth. It feels wet and gross against hers, almost slimy. An unpleasant shiver runs up her spine. Elayna clamps her teeth down on his tongue. She means it as a warning bite.

It works.

Tymon pulls away, fury blazing in his eyes. His smile drops.

“Tymon. I don't... this isn't appropriate!” Elayna hisses. “Nothing has even been announced or made official, you cannot just kiss me like that.”

“I don't care.”

“Well I do. Your reputation may not be at stake but mine is.”

Tymon stares at her, his expression unreadable. Elayna's chest heaves. 

“Why would your reputation be ruined? Everyone knows you are mine and mine alone.” He reaches forward and attempts to touch her face. Elayna jerks backwards and away from him. 

“Tymon.” 

Both Elayna and Tymon turn towards the sound of the voice. Tymon scowls. Cerelle stands on the parapet as well. She looks radiant, the setting sun lighting her in beautiful hues. Cerelle has her father's hair and eyes but everything else about her comes from her mother, down to the cold expression she wears.

“Cerelle.” Tymon greets. His tone matches the coolness of Cerelle's face. “I was wondering where you were.”

“So you thought to seek Elayna out?” She steps forward. Tymon’s upper lip twitches, but he manages to wrangle it under control at the last second. Elayna takes the welcome distraction and begins to put some distance between herself and Tymon.

“Yes, well. The two of you are close.”

He makes it sound almost disgusting. Elayna glares at him. Still, she doesn't say anything, not wishing to draw his attention to her. Cerelle tilts her head. A perfectly curled ringlet of blonde hair falls into her face. 

“Elayna is not my keeper.” She sounds as if she wants to laugh.

“No, but you are Elayna's.” 

Cerelle raises an eyebrow. “Speak plainly. If you have an issue with my relationship with my ladies-in-waiting, say so and be done with it."

Tymon lifts both his hands in the air. He chuckles softly, a sly smirk making its way onto his face. 

“I meant no offense, dearest sister.” He lowers his hands. 

“I take offense to your actions, not your words.” Cerelle steps forward. Her gait remains surprisingly steady. Elayna knows, though. She sees the barely repressed anger and tense jaw, the way Cerelle clenches both her hands into fists for the briefest of seconds before clasping her hands in front of her, the flare of Cerelle's nostrils as she nearly stalks towards her brother. 

“My actions?”

“Yes. Your actions. Mother has made it explicitly clear you are not to be alone with Elayna. Yet you openly defy her and seek out Elayna when I am busy.”

Tymon swallows. Elayna sees his Adam's apple bob. She takes advantage of his surprise and almost scurries over to Cerelle. Cerelle seemingly doesn't react to her presence.

Tymon stares at his sister for a long moment. Cerelle stares evenly back at him, her steely gaze not dissimilar to Johanna’s. Tymon must make some sort of expression because after a long minute, Cerelle's brow furrows. She raises one eyebrow. The left side of her mouth lifts slightly, not quite into a sneer but certainly a scoff. Annoyance rolls off of Tymon. His hands clench into fists for a second before he thinks better of it.

“Very well.” Tymon tries to sound pleasant, as if he's truly deferring to his sister. The blazing storm in his eyes says otherwise. He bows his head. “I shall do as instructed. Do try to not hog all of my future wife's time.”

He turns on his heel and heads towards the other set of stairs. Elayna watches him from her place behind Cerelle. She waits until he disappears from sight to speak.

“Thank you.” Elayna murmurs. She tries to effuse her gratitude into every word. Cerelle tries to keep her steady gaze. Despite her efforts, her expression softens, the hard edges of her jaw easing and forehead relaxing. 

“I cannot rescue you all the time.”

“I know. I don't expect you too.”

Elayna steps forward. Cerelle does as well. 

“Mother wants to see us as well. After she talks to Tymon.”

Cerelle stands torn. Elayna sees it clear as day. Cerelle refuses to close the distance, but with each passing moment, her posture relaxes some. 

Elayna moves first. She steps closer to Cerelle, stopping two paces away. 

“I'm still mad at you.” Cerelle looks away as she speaks.

“I know. I made a mess of things.”

“I'm not going to forgive you easily.”

Elayna steps closer. She could reach out and touch Cerelle if she wants to but opts not to do so.

“How would you like me to apologize?” Elayna looks around for a second. The two of them are alone. “I've been told I have a silvertongue when it comes to apologies.”

Cerelle's stern exterior fully breaks. She blushes. Red rises from her neck to her cheeks.

“Elayna!” She hisses. “Not here.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of doing that here.”

Cerelle finally closes the distance between them. She reaches out and loops her arm through Elayna's. 

“We should get back to the feast.” Cerelle lightly traces a finger down Elayna's forearm. “If we don't, they'll come looking.”

“Whatever my Lady desires.”

The look on Cerelle's face sends a pleasant tingle along Elayna's spine. Cerelle hums. Elayna bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling victorious. Cerelle's expression no doubt means a delightful night lies ahead of them, one Elayna imagines many women only dream of happening to them. Her own eight and ten name day is still several moons away yet many ladies have taken to giving her womanly advice. She cannot bite or scratch for too much passion may scare her husband, and it is unseemly to mark him with her nails and teeth. He may mark her as he wishes, though. His pleasure must occur; some women say she can experience it while others say she must not. Do not get on top for he will get sick since to do so is an abomination and sin. He must never look at her nether region except for when he slides into her.

All the rules make her want to laugh. While she cannot say she has experience with men beyond a kiss, she doubts the rules. If they are true, men have weak constitutions.

Cerelle never complains about her being on top or whose pleasure comes before the others. Cerelle never cares if Elayna’s mouth finds its way to Cerelle's lips or clit. Truth be told, she seems to enjoy the act quite a lot. Cerelle does prefer Elayna not mark her; Elayna has no qualms about being marked so long as it isn't visible. 

Despite her gender, Elayna finds herself performing more husbandly duties than most men. The only rule existing between them is they must not break their maidenheads. It is the only thing their husbands may have before them. 

Elayna's greed knows no bounds; everything a husband could take is hers except for that one thing. The same goes for Cerelle. She owns everything except Elayna's maidenhead. Elayna can only dream of that happening.

“Perhaps I will need you tonight. I would like to spend time with my boon companion.”

“I am always at your service.”

They begin to walk towards the stairs. Cerelle's grip keeps Elayna close, as if she thinks Elayna would go far. Elayna would never. If she could, Elayna would chain herself to Cerelle. She would put a collar around her neck like a hound and hand Cerelle the lead. She wonders if it would surprise Cerelle but doubts it would; Elayna often kneels at Cerelle's feet and whines like a bitch in heat.

“Behave.” Cerelle squeezes Elayna's arm. Elayna starts. She gazes at Cerelle with wide eyes. 

 “I am!”

“Physically? Yes. Mentally?” Cerelle clicks her tongue. 

“Oh?” Elayna arches an eyebrow. “And where exactly did you learn to read minds?”

“I didn't. I just know yours well.” 

The two of them finally enter the turret. Elayna listens in case someone is coming up the stairs. She sees and hears no one. Before Cerelle can lead them down the stairs, Elayna maneuvers them towards the wall. As soon as Cerelle's back is against the stones, Elayna pounces.

Cerelle's lips slot against hers perfectly. Cerelle squeaks in surprise, which makes Elayna grin into the kiss. Cerelle quickly recovers. Elayna groans when Cerelle digs her fingers into Elayna’s hair. She avoids Elayna's intricate braids, instead opting for the thick, brown curly hair at the base of Elayna’s skull. Those strands of hair being messy can be explained away; her braids falling out of place can't be. Elayna braces herself. She places one forearm on the wall by Cerelle's head. Her other hand rests on the bodice of Cerelle's gown. She wants nothing more than to ruck up Cerelle's skirts and trace the creamy expanse of skin she knows lies under the red silk. Caution makes her stop. Fabrics wrinkle all too easily. 

Still, Elayna can only be cautious for so long. She inches her hand upward, fingers grazing the underside of Cerelle's breasts. The motion makes Cerelle stop. She digs her fingers hard into Elayna’s hair, her nails nearly digging into Elayna’s scalp. She pulls Elayna's head back. Elayna isn't sure if the sound escaping her mouth is from pleasure or pain. 

“No.” Cerelle's chest heaves. She doesn't look angry, despite her tone. “You aren't forgiven yet.”

Elayna pouts. 

“How am I to be forgiven if you won't give me a chance?”

“You have to earn forgiveness. Me giving you what you want will only reinforce your terrible behavior.” 

“You speak of me as a dog.” 

“Perhaps if you behaved, I wouldn't have to treat you like one.”

“I am not a dog.” Elayna huffs. Cerelle arches a perfect eyebrow. She lets go of Elayna’s hair.

“Oh? What are you then?”

“Is not a dog not enough?”

Cerelle snorts. Despite her derision, Elayna sees the fondness in Cerelle's expression.

“No. You are not a dog. They can be taught manners.” Cerelle hums. A devious smirk appears on her lips. “You're a kitten. You refuse to listen and learn, you act as if you're above the rules, and you believe if you want it, it is yours. However, you don't have the claws nor teeth to back your attitude up.”

Elayna stares at Cerelle, wide eyed. She opens her mouth in an attempt to respond, but no sound comes out. She feels hot, not just her face but her entire body. Her breath comes in short bursts. 

“I...”

“Yes?” Cerelle tilts her head. “You what?”

“You... you...”

“Is my kitten having trouble finding her words?” Cerelle grabs Elayna's chin and forces Elayna to look at her. “Answer me.”

“You're so... so mean.” Elayna whines. She tries to bury her face in the crook of Cerelle's neck to hide her embarrassment. Cerelle's grip on her chin prevents her from doing so. Cerelle clicks her tongue in mock sympathy, a direct contrast to the delight dancing in her blue eyes.

“Behave tonight, and I might just let you find out how mean I can really be.”

She lets go of Elayna’s chin. Her blue eyes meet Elayna’s hazel ones. Cerelle seeks reassurance, from the way she looks over Elayna to make sure what transpired is truly alright to the way she frowns when she sees the small red indentations from her nails on Elayna’s chin. Elayna smiles. She presses her forehead to Cerelle's. Both of them close their eyes. They stay still for a moment, breath falling into line with the other's.

“You promise?”

Elayna opens her eyes and grins. Cerelle's eyes fly open. She stares coolly at Elayna. Elayna tries her best not to laugh. 

“I would be careful if I were you.”

“But what if I want you to make me regret it?”

“Then you cannot complain later.”

The sound of footsteps makes both girls back away from each other. Cerelle smooths out the wrinkles in her dress with one hand while Elayna checks her hair. None of her braids appear to be loose. She tucks the small amount of hair Cerelle accidentally removed from the carefully done hairstyle and stuffs the ends as best she can into her braids and held up hair. The two look at each other. Elayna scans Cerelle and nods. Cerelle does the same for Elayna.

“Shall we join the others?” Elayna offers her arm to Cerelle.

“I think it best.”

In the whirlwind of the feast, Elayna forgets about having to speak with Johanna. She spends most of the night dancing and laughing. No one yet knows of her creeping fate; Elayna takes advantage of this fact. Truth be told, she refuses to imagine what her future looks like. Instead, she decides to enjoy the moment. 

The moment includes Elayna staying with Cerelle as the first night of festivities begin to wind down. They don't even bother to come up with an excuse if they're questioned; it's happened a million times before after a feast and will no doubt happen again. Everyone knows the two are inseparable. 

“Elayna.” Cerelle murmurs from the dark. They lay in bed together, Cerelle pressing up against Elayna from behind. One of her arms lightly rests over Elayna's hips.

“Yes?” 

“You have yet to make good on your promise and apologize to me. Properly.”

Elayna hums. She rolls over to face Cerelle. They both wait for a second.

“I suppose I can.”

*****************

“I don't want to marry Tymon.”

Elayna knows not the hour. She assumes early since the darkness seems almost oppressive. Elayna rests her head just underneath Cerelle's bare breasts. Cerelle sits mostly upright, lounging on some pillows. One of her hands rests on Elayna’s head, fingers gently intertwining into Elayna’s dark curls. 

“You must.” Cerelle gently scratches Elayna's scalp in a comforting gesture. A tinge of sadness colors Cerelle's tone, though. Elayna buries her face into Cerelle's soft curves. She takes a moment to find her words, tasting each one on her tongue. 

“He scares me, Cerelle. He scares me so much. I... I worry he means to harm me.”

Cerelle sighs. The bed creaks. Cerelle brings one hand down and places her fingers underneath Elayna's chin. She tilts Elayna's head up so she can look at her. 

“He would harm you if you were betrothed to another.” Cerelle speaks bluntly. She never minces words when it comes to important things. “I hope Mother and Father realize this. Perhaps this is their way of mitigating damage. If you don't marry, violence is inevitable. If you do marry, mayhaps it will be... limited.” 

“I doubt it.” Elayna frowns. She looks away into the darkness. Cerelle gives her that luxury. “He doesn't love me. He doesn't even like me. He just sees me as an object to own.”

“Most men see their wives like that.”

“I know that! But... I sometimes...”

“You sometimes what?” Impatience bleeds into Cerelle's tone. 

“It feels as if he sees me as little more than a broodmare for prized horses.” 

Cerelle doesn't say anything. She neither confirms nor denies Elayna's accusations. Instead, she takes a strand of Elayna’s hair between her fingers and gently plays with it. Elayna lowers her head. She shuffles up the bed some, intent on placing her head on Cerelle's chest to hear her heart beat.

“I can't save you all the time.”

“I'm not asking that of you.” Elayna huffs. “I can rescue myself if need be. I'm just... I'm frightened, Cerelle.” 

Elayna's whole body trembles. Cerelle shushes her. She places her hand back on Elayna’s head. Elayna tries to relax into Cerelle's embrace; her body refuses to obey her commands. Every part of her tenses. Cerelle sighs. The sheets shift, a whisper of silk, as Cerelle reaches down with her free hand and takes Elayna's hand in her own. 

Elayna waits for Cerelle to say something, anything. She waits for words of comfort. Cerelle stays silent for an uncomfortably long time. Eventually, Cerelle sits up some and presses a kiss to the top of Elayna’s head. 

“Go to sleep, Elayna. We can talk about these matters in the morning.”

****************

Johanna calls for them after breakfast.

Thankfully, the two of them were already decent. Three years of practice means their timing is down to an art. No one ever expresses any suspicion.

“Cerelle. Elayna.” Johanna looks between the two of them. The pair sit opposite Johanna. Elayna’s back stands ramrod straight while Cerelle almost leans back in her chair. “ ‘Tis time to begin looking at the future. The Lord Lannister and I have discussed this, and we have come up with a plan.”

Elayna and Cerelle exchange a look. Elayna raises an eyebrow to which Cerelle blinks. Johanna watches them.

“One of Princess Helaena's ladies-in-waiting injured herself badly, to the point she must retire and go back to her family. Truly a shame what happened to her. Rumors are she is now a cripple. Despite how unfortunate this is, a princess should never be without.” Johanna meets Cerelle's eyes. “I have arranged for you to be one of Princess Helaena's ladies-in-waiting. She needs someone more confident than she, and I know you will serve her faithfully. Elayna, of course, will follow as one of your ladies.”

“We're going to King's Landing?” Cerelle grins. She looks to Elayna, eyes glittering with hope. Elayna grins softly in return.

“Yes.” Johanna nods. “Even though you are one of the Princess's ladies, I do expect you to spend time with your uncle. He will be able to provide valuable instruction. Your father would have sent you earlier, but now I believe you will be able to fully grasp any advice given to you.” Johanna turns her attention to Elayna. Elayna almost wants to shrink back. “You, of course, will ensure Cerelle's comfort and safety. I also think it would behoove you to accompany her when she visits with Tyland. You may learn things as well.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Johanna places her hands in her lap. “Cerelle. You're dismissed. I wish Elayna to sit with me a while.”

Cerelle and Elayna exchange looks. Elayna doesn't move, even as Cerelle does. 

“Mother.”

“Cerelle.”

Cerelle takes her leave then. Elayna adjusts her position in her chair. 

“Tymon spoke with me.” Elayna watches Johanna. Before she takes a sip, Johanna indicates with a gesture for Elayna to be poured a goblet.

“Did he?”

“He said you spoke to him about a betrothal. Of him and me.” Elayna tries her best not to pout or look too sullen. 

“Your father will accompany us when we go to King's Landing. Jason or I will suggest the idea then.”

Elayna frowns. She leans back in her seat. Johanna sets her goblet down. 

“Elinor. If you would leave us.”

The servant curtsies before leaving. Elayna waits to hear the soft close of the doorway to the servant's quarters. Johanna eyes Elayna. Her hands rest in her lap. 

“Do you not wish to marry Tymon?” 

“ ‘Tis not that! I'm just... I don't mean to question you, but I do not see how I am the appropriate choice.”

“Tymon will need someone who can reign him in once he is in charge. Someone practical who knows the ins and outs of this place.” Johanna takes a drink from her goblet. Elayna tries not to fidget and keep her hands still. “Even if he were not set on you, you are the best choice. Whether you recognize it or not, you are everything but a Lannister in name. ‘Tis time that changes.”

Elayna purses her lips. She bites down on her tongue to keep herself from saying the immediate thought in her mind. Truthfully, she does not want this marriage; she wants no marriage as of now. It is inevitable, she knows. Elayna is acutely aware of this fact. It doesn't ease her mind on the topic. 

Johanna stares Elayna down once more. Eventually, she places her goblet down with a sigh.

“ ‘Tis time for you to grow up.” Elayna nearly flinches at Johanna’s steely tone. “I know of you and my daughter. I have... indulged you both and kept your secret, but it cannot go on any longer. You both have your duties. I will not let our reputation be tarnished because you refuse to give up antics more suited to young girls. Indiscretions like this do not go on for several years nor do they go as far as it has. The time for that is over.” 

Elayna trembles. Fear courses through her body.

“I understand, my Lady. Forgive me.”

“I keep this quiet not for you but for Cerelle.” Johanna’s nostrils flare. “I do not agree with what the two of you have done in the slightest. I recognize the impulse, but it cannot continue.”

Elayna dips her head. She feels frozen, stuck to her chair even though she wants nothing more than to run. Johanna clearly sees it. She leans forward and places a hand on Elayna’s knee.

“If you were a man, it would be done. Cerelle deserves a loyal husband. I meant it when I said you were one of us.” Johanna’s voice softens for the briefest of moments. When she pushes back to her full height, the harshness returns. “But you are not a man. It can't continue.”

“It can't. It won't continue.” The words taste bitter. 

Johanna leans back in her seat. She picks up her goblet again. 

“Good. To prove your commitment and to show you keep your word, you have a task. You are to target Prince Aemond. Find out what he likes, what he dislikes. Learn everything you can about him. Then, you will feed this information to Cerelle. I can't ask for a betrothal outright. The future is too uncertain. I can, however, obtain it other ways. When you come back, you will be betrothed to Tymon and marry him.”

Elayna nods.

“Are we in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Elayna blinks back tears. She clears her throat and poorly suppresses a sniffle. She inhales. 

Lifting her head is the hardest thing she's ever done. 

“We are in agreement.”

Johanna smiles. It doesn't meet her eyes; it's a socially expected smile. Her lips stay too close together, and her eyes blaze.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.”

Next chapter

[coldraindropsss]

Teora Kyndall, Cerelle Lannister

[cruciomee]

House Lannister family portrait before the Dance

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

The Pearls of The Realm

Cerelle Lannister ~ The Pearl of The West The Pearls of The Realm are known as the most beautiful, gracious, and kind, eligible maidens from each region of The Seven Kingdoms. Equal parts a lovely friend, enviable peer, and romantic match many a young heir and knight would ride to defend, Pearls are considered the embodiment of everything a Lady should be, and serve as shining examples for all those around them to strive for much and more in everything they do.

Cerelle is written by Nick on @cerellelannister2 who is particularly searching for her parents, Lord Jason and Lady Johanna Lannister, as well as her closest younger sister, Lady Tyshara and second-youngest sister, Cerissa, in addition to enthusiastically welcoming any of our open characters from House Lannister 🩵 home — wanted —navigate — apply — discord