𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭; j. snow

-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢

KING'S LANDING, 298 AC

The smoke hung thickly in the air. It was quiet in the throne room as she kept vigil. The painted eyes on stone tradition always disturbed her; she preferred the closed eyes of the dead, to her it looked more peaceful.

Jon Arryn was always good to her, her father when her own father was occupied with his whores or ale. She had her mother, but her mother preferred Joffrey to Jocasta. The Silent Sisters walked in, their headdresses bearing the seven-pointed star, the symbol of the Seven.

She was more than pleased when Lysa Arryn fled with her strange child back to the Eyrie. Her and her son's relationship was perplexing. It made Jocasta a little uncomfortable, to be honest. She had been in the throne room for a while now, she was tired and wished more than anything to return to her room. Her sworn swords, Ser Davyd Blackwood and Ser Samson Florent, were waiting by the door for her.

Her eyes drifted around the throne room, the Iron Throne sticking out like an eye sore. It was ugly, but powerful. Her mother was watching from a hallway above, having a hushed conversation with her twin brother, Jaime. They always had a strangely close relationship.

She exited the hall silently, but she felt her mother's eyes blazing a hole into her back. She kept her back straight and her hands clasped solemnly behind her back to avoid a lecture from her mother later.

Her guards' armor clanked as they, wearing their gold cloaks, followed close behind her. She did not have any White Cloaks, those were only for the King. As her father was now Handless, she suspected they would be leaving soon in search for a suitable replacement. She already knew who her father would choose. He would choose Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North... also conveniently the brother of his deceased betrothed.

Her father and Lord Ned had been fostered at the Eyrie with Jon Arryn, so they had known each other for a while now. She basked in the evening sun in her solar, letting the warm breeze waft in lazily through the silk curtains.

It was warm, but it was noticeably cooler than it was the week before. Her guards kept watch outside her door as she watched the sun sink below the squat, close houses of King's Landing. The stink was becoming rather prominent, so she closed the curtains and got ready for bed. She was going to have her handmaiden, Alysha, pack her things the next day. She felt a journey to the drab gray waste that was Winterfell in her future.

To Jocasta, the quiet of the night was a time for deep thought and reflection, and for the past few days her thoughts had lingered on Jon Arryn and his untimely passing. It was strange, everyone thought so. But, if it were anything too suspicious, she thought Grand Maester Pycelle would've, hopefully, picked up on it.

Her premonition did come true. "Jocasta," her mother said, waking her up from her peaceful sleep.

"Yes, mother?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"We leave for Winterfell this afternoon. Pack your things, sweet one," her mother ordered, discontent in her voice. Her golden hair was twisted elaborately into the southern style of the year, as Jocasta's would be within the hour.

She sighed as she laid back onto her feather pillow. "I'm as pleased as you are, Jocasta," her mother spoke, her green eyes as dull as the personality of the northerners.

Cersei left the room after a quick lecture on what to bring and what would be inappropriate. Like she was going to bring something sheer anyways, she wasn't an idiot. Truthfully, she wasn't as upset about going to Winterfell as she was about the journey. Spending a month traveling in the constant company of her beloved brother, Joffrey, sounded just splendid. It made her want to break every glass item in her room.