Year 270AC( MC's Age 7)
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Casterly Rock
Joanna Lannister POV
"I missed his first words. His first steps. I don't even know what food he likes. I don't even know the sound of his voice, Genna." The words tumbled out in a choked rush as her cousin approached, drawn by the echoes of sobs reverberating off the stone walls.
Joanna turned, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "Please. Convince Tywin. You're the only one he listens to."
Genna reached for her, but Joanna recoiled, the raw ache in her chest too sharp to bear.
"Let me have my son," she pleaded, her voice fracturing. "Is that too much to ask? I don't care for court politics. Thrones, crowns—they mean nothing. I just want to see him. Just once. Gods… just once. My Son.."
She sank to her knees, the crumpled letter slipping into her lap as she buried her face in her hands. Genna knelt beside her, silent. No words could bridge the chasm between them—only the hollow sound of Joanna Lannister's grief.
It had all begun during that cursed tourney.
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259 AC – King's Landing
"Joanna, hurry! Daeron's entering the lists today!" Rhaella called over her shoulder, nearly tripping on her gown's hem as she dragged Joanna and Myriah through Maegor's Holdfast.
"Slow down, Princess," Myriah laughed, breathless. "There's time enough. Besides, our sweet prince will surely win. I've promised him a precious reward afterward."
Her smirk turned wicked, and Rhaella flushed crimson.
"You!" Rhaella whirled, hands planted on her hips. "Stay away from my brother, you scheming Dornish viper! He hasn't even taken my favor yet!" Triumphantly, she brandished a black ribbon striped with red, its silken length fluttering like a dragon's tongue.
"He'll ride with it on his lance—you'll see."
Myriah tilted her head, lips curving. "Perhaps he waits for an offering more… memorable."
"Harlot," Rhaella hissed.
Joanna lingered behind them, hands clasped tight, a faint smile trembling on her lips. Her gaze drifted to the ribbon hidden in her bodice—gold and crimson, stitched with her initials. She hadn't dared offer it. Would he even notice?
"I want him to wear mine too," she whispered, but her voice drowned in Rhaella's scolding and Myriah's laughter.
The royal box buzzed with anticipation as King Aegon rose. Below, two dozen knights stood at attention, their armor glinting.
"Lords and Ladies of the Realm, thank you for coming to celebrate another year of my Reign on the Iron Throne. Today, it pleases me to tell you that the finest Knights of the Realm have gathered here to show off their skills. Remember, Sers, only the finest shall take home a prize of 60,000 Gold Dragons. May the Best Win." He concluded.
"There he is." Myriah pointed, and Joanna turned to follow her gaze.
A knight stood apart from the others. Though shorter than many of them, his broad shoulders gave him an imposing presence. Oh, how she wanted to bury herself in his arms.
The prince was clad in a light, silver armor with a spiked design. His helmet was adorned with a crown-like ring of spikes, and instead of a visible face, a roaring blaze erupted from the top — flames shaped like hair or a mane of fire.
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As the jousters dispersed, the girls rushed into the prince's tent.
"Daeron!" Rhaella called as they entered.
"Here," came his reply.
They turned to find him tightening the straps on his armor. His Bright Silver Mane tied, he was the most handsome man she had ever laid her eyes on. Aerys looked like a stable boy with silver hair compared to Daeron.
"There you are," Rhaella said, crossing the room quickly and holding out her favor. "You don't want to upset your big sis now, do you?"
"Oh, please — you're older by a few hours," he said with a wry smile.
He took Rhaella's favor and tied it to the plumes of his helmet. Rhaella beamed and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He turned red.
"Me next," Myriah said, producing her favor, a plain Orange ribbon. "Here—take mine too."
Daeron accepted it without protest. Then, before anyone could stop her, the Princess of Dorne leaned in and captured his lips. Joanna froze. He didn't pull away. He deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing, and his hands went to her waist. Joanna felt her hands curl into fists, a deep hatred rising in her chest for the heir of Dorne.
"Heyyy!" Rhaella finally snapped, shoving them apart. Myriah only grinned, biting Daeron's lower lip before pulling away and winking.
"You harlot! You stole my brother's first kiss!"
"Oh, keep it down. It was my first, too," Myriah replied, casually running her index finger along her lower lip. "I've seen my aunt do it with her paramour before—and they married the next damn day." She turned to Daeron. "It was quite good, my sweet."
This harlot. Joanna wanted to tear her apart.
She turned to Daeron—his face was flushed, and he was now very deliberately looking away.
"Not fair," Rhaella huffed. "I wanted to be his first. You know what—never mind."
Without waiting for permission, she grabbed his face and kissed him full on the mouth. This kiss lasted longer than the first, and far deeper—tongues twisting, hands exploring. Joanna's stomach twisted as she watched them melt into each other's arms, holding one another as if they were the last two people in the realm.
At last, Daeron pulled back, panting lightly. His hands rested on his sister's hips, and his head rested on her shoulder.
"Huff… Huff… As much as I'd love to continue this," he said, "people might start asking questions about why a princess and two highborn ladies are spending so much time in a mysterious knight's tent. Best you leave before we're caught."
Joanna felt her heart ache.
He hadn't even looked at her. Not once.
Rhaella and Myriah both gave him a parting peck on the lips and disappeared from the tent, giggling like they hadn't just broken her in half, forgetting her.
She stood there, unmoving. He turned to her, clearly expecting her to follow the others.
But she didn't. "Not so easily, my precious summer prince."
"Joanna," he sighed. "Like I said, if a high—"
She didn't let him finish. She stepped in, lifting her chin to meet his eyes, and took his lips for herself. Her kiss was demanding, bold, full of aching want. Her tongue prodded against his lips, and he opened to her. She slid in, tasting him, claiming him. "Sweet."
His hands began to wander, tracing the curves of her body with deliberate intent. His right hand glided up the slope of her spine, fingers combing through her long golden hair and then lingering at the nape of her neck before descending to cup her breast, his fingers tightening possessively. Meanwhile, his left hand gripped the swell of her hip, sliding lower to grasp her buttock with firm urgency, parting the soft flesh beneath his palm. She yielded without hesitation, her left hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer, deepening the hunger of their embrace. With her free hand, she slipped past the waistband of his breeches, her fingers grazing the taut fabric of his underclothes to cradle the hardened outline beneath. "BIG"
His fervor intensified. Releasing the warmth of her breast, he gripped her hips instead, lifting her effortlessly off the ground as their kiss grew hungrier. He carried her to the narrow bed, laying her down with rough urgency, fingers fumbling at the laces of her gown. She seized his wrists, halting him. "Not yet, my sweet Summer Dragon," she breathed, her voice a blend of command and promise. "Don my favor with the others. Win the joust. And tonight… I will be yours."
He nodded, crushing his lips to hers once more. She moaned softly, arching into him, then slid a hand beneath her bodice to retrieve a silk ribbon embroidered with her sigil. Breaking the kiss just long enough to tie it around his bracer, she whispered, "I'll be watching you."
Her lips found his again, lingering until the fabric was secured. Then, with a sly smile, she smoothed her rumpled skirts and slipped from the tent, leaving him flushed and breathless.
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