A Throne's Shadow

Disclaimer:
Code Geass is owned by Sunrise Inc.
Game of Thrones is owned by George R.R. Martin

Chapter I - The Second Born (1.1)

Delicate, pale fingers combed through tidy raven locks, stroking silken hairs in comfortable silence. His head, no bigger than one of Robert's dirty, soiled hands, lay resting between the cleavage of her breasts. On her lap he sat, his mother's arm snaked around his back, unmoving as he slept. For the past hour she'd held him as such, the rhythmic beating of his heart echoing within her chest. Rare were such occasions of bliss. She felt him stir.

Stunning violet amethysts starred into beautiful Lannister greens, lids fluttering with fatigue. His face, so very much like her own, buried itself once again into her teats, shielding his eyes from the fire's dimming light.

"Mama?" He muttered, voice weary and muffled.

"Yes sweetling?" She questioned in response.

"Do you love me?" He asked.

Her answer came in the form of a gentle kiss upon his forehead as she rocked him back and forth. Cersei's smile was angelic.

"Of course Steffon."

It poured in the Riverlands, big, fat droplets of rain drenching those unfortunate enough to find themselves without the luxury of shelter. Tyrion, to his dismay, was one such individual.

"And to think they call these the Riverlands, I believe Rainlands would have been more appropriate." He muttered, growing cold from his sodden clothing, the fine leathers and cloths of which they were made soaking in the water as if a sponge. He humbly mused as to wether they would shrink in the process, making him more of a half - man than he already was. No doubt sister dear would make quick work of pointing such a detail out should it ever truly happen, knowing the Queen.

Truth be told, he had prepared for heavy rains such as these for the duration of their journey up across Westeros. Winterfell, beating heart of the North's frigid plains it was, lay, after all, a solid month's ride from the capital of King's Landing, plenty of time, and distance, for the weather to turn foul as it did. Better yet, the thick cloak he'd purchased had, indeed, worked as intended… for a time. As it turned out, even the thickest of cloaks could do little to keep its wearer dry under the region's heavy, and seemingly endless, downpours.

On the upside, however, he did have the satisfaction of seeing his fellow travelers just as soaked as he, Jaime included. He couldn't prevent himself from grinning as he caught a glimpse of his elder brother's form, just a few paces away, hair soaked and sticking to his face, like a man who'd just taken a swim and found himself without a towel. He chuckled. Then again, now that he thought about it, it would have been far more entertaining if a certain sister of theirs were in the same position. Yet, to the misfortune of his wit, she lay seated in her carriage, dry as could be, her most troubling issue reduced to wether or not the children riding with her behaved.

Tommen would most likely stay rather calm, if a bit restless from being confined within the wheelhouse for a large portion of the journey so far. Young men his age needed to keep themselves occupied, if not by swinging swords than by reading books. Joffrey, conceited nephew of his that he was, was likely to remain content in comparison to his youngest sibling, moaning here and there as they moved forward, complaining to his mother along the way. Myrcella, however…

He smiled at the image of his niece, beautiful young maiden that she was, a reflection of her mother in years past, in looks if not in personality, thank the Seven, growing increasingly anxious as they neared towards their next temporary stopping point. In fact, as far as he knew, it was probably what had made her so excited about the trip itself in the first place, the picture of the girl, wringing her hands in impatience just before the royal party's departure from Kings Landing, anchored deeply within his mind. The notion of seeing her favorite brother, and he was, undoubtedly, her favorite, for more reasons than he could reasonably count, being motive enough to drop everything and leave. Steffon would, assuredly, be just as thrilled, if, upon their arrival, giving nothing more than a half - formed smirk. Tyrion probably attributed such expectations to just how rarely the second prince smiled. Perhaps he'd inherited such a trait from Tywin and Stannis, if their own characters were anything to go by. Then again, it never did seem to make him an any less pleasing conversationalist.

The fact that Cersei's mood had been steadily improving over the day, it too, was telling to his eyes. Dear King Robert, on the other hand, couldn't seem to be bothered.

There was a sudden, harsh crack, and he counted, to the second, the time it took for the maddened and irritated howling of their beloved ruler to make itself heard.

"DAMN THAT INFERNAL CARRIAGE OF YOURS WOMAN!"

'What many warring lords seem to forget,' Thought Ser Barristan, eyeing the mud caked hooves of his horse and similarly coated wheels of her Grace's carriage farther back, 'is that, when the rain ceases, its consequences do not.'

True to his thoughts, the entirety of the procession had slowly come to a halt, the water - logged soil, drenched by the heavens' rains, having rendered the road a virtual impasse, its surface doing little better than the lands through which it cut. Thrice already had the retinue come to a complete stop, the Queen's transport having, yet again, gotten bogged down in one of the many sinkholes which littered their route, hidden from view by the thick layer of muck coating the earth. Add to this the fact that the wheelhouse in question was also prone to breaking down altogether, having already done so some five times not more than a fourth of the way towards their ultimate destination, and their daily rate of travel was simply abhorrent. His Grace, understandably so, was most displeased. He frowned, however, at the vulgarity through which said monarch voiced his displeasure. Truly if the King could but cool his temper and reign in his more… unsavory impulses, the Realm could have enjoyed a more prosperous rule.

Enter the Kingslayer to his right, an amused expression painting his features.

"His Grace seems to be in a foul mood, does he not Ser Barristan?"

Barristan Selmy, with all the elegance expected of a man of his reputation, responded in the respectful tone the Lannister was due.

"It would appear to be so, Ser Jaime, though it should come as no surprise to you, I'm sure."

The oath breaking Kingsguard's mirth failed to vanish; if anything it seemed to grow larger. "It isn't so much as that but more as what's to come that I fear. If our dear King has already fallen into such sour moods so far from our goal, what mercies do you think he will grant us for the rest of our travels?"

"As long as his Grace's safety is insured," Barristan replied, "his temperament matters not. I believe that we have dealt with worse, have we not?" His last words may have come, to any prying ears, as slightly more strained than the rest.

The Lannister flashed him a toothy smile, the apparent humor of the situation not leaving his cat green eyes. Quite frankly, for a warrior past his 36th nameday, the blond had the looks of a man ten years his younger.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard turned his head at the increased volumes of commotion originating from behind, the forms of mud plastered men next to her Grace's vehicle a sign that they'd been, with great effort, able to free it from its un - living captor.

A signal of the hand, a shout of assembly, and the column begun to advance once more.

Word Count: 1,315

Author's Notes:

There are 3 Game of Thrones and Code Geass Crossovers on this site. This makes the fourth. I'm sorry, but taking the Magnificent Bastard that is Lelouch and placing him in a world full of bastards, both literally and figuratively, is just to good an opportunity to pass up. Family issues and manipulation on a scale you've never seen lie before us.

Cover image attributed to rahit.