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It is currently WINTER in WESTEROS during the year 303 AC. The new moon cycle marks a full twenty years since the Mad King was murdered, and his son King Rhaegar ascended the Iron Throne in his place. Though the year is fresh, war in the Narrow Sea has left the Free Cities of Volantis and Tyrosh in ashes, and the Long Night continues to beckon from the Northern fringes of the Seven Kingdoms. With the Queen Lyanna presumed dead, the citizens of the realms look only to each other for survival.
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 BLOOD IN THE CUT, tag cersei AU
RHAEGAR TARGARYEN
 Posted: Mar 11 2018, 07:11 PM
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Shelbs is Offline
43 years old
CROWNLANDS [A]
THE IRON THRONE
house targaryen
KING'S LANDING
KING


Set in a time where Rhaegar ascended after the Mad King, with Cersei Lannister at his side. Elia and Lyanna are irrelevant in this timeline. 282 AC.

A perfect duplicate, they’d said. Wrought with the same heavy red gold, shaped into the same dragonheads for each point and anointed with the same seven oils. It weighed the same, they assured him, the same diligence and attention that once poured the mold to his own was now used for its twin counterpart. As Rhaegar sat there looking at the two crowns, not even he could discern the differences. That was except, of course, for the gemstones used in each of the dragons’ eyes. Where his own flared with small pieces of glimmering ruby, its replica was instead fashioned with chips of emerald; a homage to the sparkling green gaze of its royal wearer. “Fit for a Dragon Queen,” he’d heard the smith goad, already fingering the small velvet pouch of gold coins in his hand. The idea had brought a brief smile to the King’s face, a flash of affection that quickly receded beneath the waves of increasing self-doubt. Was it fit for a Dragon Queen? Was his new bride even that? Did she wish to let the songs of history sing about her fiery, tempestuous House, or would she make sure her shining paw print as a Lannister lioness never faded from their rule? Suddenly he feared she would wish for a crown wrought from the yellow gold of her own family’s mines, not the heads of fierce leviathans as points, but the open maws of her roaring sigil instead.

Not for the first time, a long, audible sigh bloomed in his chest, deflating even the seemingly unsinkable line of his broad shoulders. Perhaps foolishly and childlishly he could still remember the reign he’d pictured for himself, the glowing Light of the West standing at his side, not competing with his fire, but only illuminating it further. Together the Seven Kingdoms would burn not with his father’s wildfire, but with their equal passion that many continued to say would see them be the two greatest rulers of his House. Yet still, Rhaegar looked to his bride’s new crown with a sense of hesitance, as if he feared it would not mean to her what it did to him. Only his wife for a few short moons, he was as new a husband as he was a king, and he was not sure where one ended and the other began. Cersei was like an unbridled filly, a wild wolf or, better yet, an untamed lioness, and it showed in her mannerisms as much as it did in their marital bed. He had consummated their union, of course, and had revisited it a few times after, but he wondered, could she read his own self-doubt? Were the many gifts he continued to shower upon her, from Myrish lenses to Lyseni silks, Tyroshi dyes and Pentoshi gemstones, even one of the finest hunting falcons from Willas Tyrell’s brood, was it all because he did not know what else to give her?

His eyes flashed with something unintelligible as his steward stepped forth, delicately plucking the heavy crown atop its crimson velvet pillow and gingerly placing it in the ornate wooden box nearby. A golden lock fashioned into the shape of a dragon let out a satisfying click once it was secured into place, protecting the Queen’s new royal gift until it could be at last set upon her brow. These were the crowns they would be painted in, he knew, throughout history. The great and many portraits that still hung in the throne room would one day be accompanied with their own, with Rhaegar’s ruby-eyed crown of Aegon IV matching Cersei’s emerald-eyed one. Perhaps even the queens after her would come to wear it, as well, and the thought alone was enough to briefly wash away the vacillation from his mind and leave him a soft, adoring smile that touched his lips. Tonight, during their feast, he would present it to her before all of the nobles and their squires, servants and valets; anyone and everyone in attendance would lay witness to their King crowning their new Queen. While they each had been coronated by the High Septon beside each other, this would be Rhaegar’s own moment, his own personal sign of devotion to the woman he called his wife. He just prayed it would be enough for her… for the woman who always had everything.
* * * * *

“What do you think of it?” He asked, standing just behind her as she looked to her reflection. The tri-fold of mirrors stood as proud as the couple it reflected, and the deep indigo of his eyes flitted over Cersei’s frame. The crown of red gold sat upon her head, glimmering in the chandelier light hanging from their domed ceiling, and even Rhaegar had to admire the precision of the workmanship. Still he could not note any difference against his own crown, save for the flecks of emerald embedded into the dragonheads, and it brought a loving smile to his lips that he did not hesitate to press to the top of her bare shoulder. Though they could not hear the music in the great hall from here in the Holdfast, the King knew their people continued to feast and dance and celebrate in the name of their new royal couple, and here… here, across the drawbridge and deep within his apartments, the King sought his own celebration. With gentle hands he collected her silken blond hair, moving it to one side so that her elegant nape was free for him to kiss and whisper warm breaths of air upon the small hairs. “‘Fit for a Dragon Queen,’ I was told.” Lifting his head, he glanced once more to her reflection before him, his thick arms slipping beneath her own and winding around the slenderness of her waist. “Fit for my Queen.”
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CERSEI BARATHEON
 Posted: May 27 2018, 04:04 AM
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Ash is Offline
37 years old
STORMLANDS
House Baratheon
House Lannister
Storm's End
Lady


A dream come true, some might have called it, but Cersei knew better. Dreams were for silly unfortunate children who knew their fate was nothing more than mediocrity, something she had never been and never would be. The proud lioness - the light of the West. Cersei had always known her future was to rise to greatness, more so than even that to which she had been born. She had still been a small child when her father informed her that one day she would become queen, no more than seven at the time. It had been just following her first trip to King’s Landing, for Aerys’ Anniversary Tournament, when her mother had still been alive.

For weeks after she’d been nothing but smiles, imagining her life in King’s Landing, married to the beautiful prince. Days were spent drawing pictures of the two of them, usually on a dragon though she knew they no longer existed. Cersei and her future baby sister would shine at court, and she would make sure the girl had the next best marriage, after her. Perhaps a prince of Dorne, so they could both be royalty, wouldn’t that be grand? But the baby would not be a sister. After her mother’s death the drawings stopped, but the little lioness was no less certain of her fate. She would be queen of Westeros, the bride of beautiful Rhaegar Targaryen.

And now she was just as she had always known she would be. Jaime was insanely jealous, of course, a member of the Kingsguard and thus always near to her. He’d tried to get her alone a handful of times in the few moons she’d been married to Rhaegar, but Cersei continued to refuse him. It was true, she had encouraged him to join the Kingsguard. However it had not been so that she might be unfaithful to the king. It had been because the thought of Jaime marrying anyone else - fucking another woman for the rest of his life - enraged her. If she could not have him then no woman could. It had been quite pleasing to see the look on his face when Rhaegar presented her with his gift tonight. There was a hint of smugness mingled with the joy in her expression when she met her twin’s gaze as her husband, the king, placed the beautiful crown atop her head.

Jaime likely wouldn’t speak with her at all tomorrow. If she genuinely thought it would last Cersei might have cared. But he would come crawling back to her, desperate for her love in a few more days time. He always did. For the time being, at least, she fully intended to be loyal to her husband. Rhaegar was the king, after all. And so beautiful. Her dragon king - the man who had made her the queen she was always meant to be. Though the fact that he had only visited her bed a handful of times since they wed did give her pause. Cersei had never questioned whether she was good enough. Never felt herself to be lacking in any way. So why had the King not taken advantage of his marital right more often? Perhaps she had been too eager of a lover - too certain of herself. Had Rhaegar recognized that he had not been her first? Surely not, or he would not still be bestowing such beautiful gifts upon her. After all, she had been certain to spill a small vial of chicken blood on the sheets the night of their bedding when her beautiful dragon’s attention had been elsewhere. There should be no reason for such concern.

Standing in front of the tri-fold of mirrors in the chamber she shared with her husband. The lioness admired her reflection and the beautiful gift she had been given. Fit for a Dragon Queen. A genuine smile curled the corner of her mouth, cheeks flushed the lightest pink at his praise. It truly was a beautiful crown. The red gold metalwork complimented her honeyed tresses more beautifully than a yellow gold might have, too similar in color. The dragon’s eyes matched her own, a detail that had instantly caught her attention. His Queen. She was no longer a lioness, but a dragon; it was the only trade she would ever be willing to make.

”It's beautiful. You spoil me, my love.” Cersei’s voice was gentle, eyes fluttering closed as she felt the press of his lips against her shoulder. The gown she wore was a gift from Rhaegar as well - red as the rubies in his crown, a color that paid homage to the house of her birth as well as the one she had joined, with a neckline that was only truly flattering until one had begun birthing children. Made of the softest Lyseni silks, the material was thin enough to feel as if he touched her skin directly when his arms slipped around her middle, and Cersei sucked in her breath slightly at his touch. Delicate hands moved to cover Rhaegar’s slightly larger ones, and she leaned back to rest her head against his chest, remaining mindful of the heavy crown still atop her head. Opening her eyes once more, she met his gaze in the mirror. “Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked, voice hopeful as if his tender touches did not already imply that he intended to do so.


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