Go West
Ser Jaime’s simple yet elegant black leather duffle, Sansa’s lurid pink weekender with sparkling gold hardware and XOXO patterned on its soft sides and Cersei’s buttery soft gilded leather case snuggle together in the overhead bin, mirroring the passengers below them.
“I’ve never seen such a leggy girl fight to be in the middle. We do have a long flight so I’m not going to complain.” Ser Jaime stretches out tilting his seat back, his golden hair gleaming against the red on red brocade. He tugs at a loose strand of Sansa’s ruby hair, teasing. “I think somebody is a greedy little minx.” He laughs as Sansa retaliates, tugging at a curl of his hair with a growl, then Ser Jaime leans over to hiss in her ear. “And if she doesn’t stop it, she’s getting a far worse punishment than cramped legs.” Sansa yelps and drops her fingers as if her Ser’s hair were flaming.
“Sansa.” Cersei’s voice is firm, her eyes hidden behind her black silk eye mask. “Remember your manners. This is first class, not a bear pit.” Cersei lifts her mask and presses the call button, whispers to an attendant, who returns with a small bottle and a glass of ice with creamy liquid inside.” Cersei smiles, locking her green eyes with Sansa’s. “Drink this, little dove--and not a word or a squirm till we’re airborne. Understood?” Sansa nods, slightly cowed. Cersei tries to remain firm even though a smile twinkles within her, nudging at the ends of her lips. “Good.” Sansa sips at the liqueur, nods her thanks as an attendant hands her a feather pillow. Sansa then tucks her earphones into her jacket sleeve stretches her legs, flashing Cersei a bit of the seamed stockings she’s wearing under her lilac and white dress. (Lannisters do not wear scrubs, sweats or even the most expensive of yoga pants on airplanes.) Cersei notes with irritation that there are far too many yoga pants even in first class, then smiles at her cub--far more pleasant to look at-- and murmurs. “Good girl.” She’s rewarded with a dazzling smile as bright as the golden chain around Sansa’s neck as Cersei’s own girl sips at her sweet drink, watches other passengers shuffle in as the taste of alcohol and cream burns sweetly on her tongue. Ser Jaime looks over their cub to smile at his beloved sister, winking. Cersei arches her brow, but then smiles back and he’s happy too. At least she’s only had to put one of them in line--so excitable. Ser Jaime takes Sansa’s empty cup and bottle to put on his own tray for the attendant, wraps a burgundy velour blanket around their cub, their sweetest little sister. “Snug as a bug in a rug.” he whispers and Sansa nods and smiles as he pats her knee, tucks her in at the waist where he knows he can feel her waist chain even under the excess cloth. That makes him smile too.
As her darlings settle in, Cersei nods graciously as the attendant puts up her tray, watches impassively as the front cabin attendant places a mask over her own nose and mouth, mimes breathing. She notes that Ser Jaime is quietly settling in with his own pillow, touching his knee to their cub’s, just as Cersei touches her elbow to Sansa’s own. Cersei likes this. It feels like a circuit of love between them all, a tenderness humming with fierceness and power. As the plane taxis, Cersei feels the engines vibrate and her feelings lift, all the indignities of the airport fading away. As the plane lifts into the morning sunlight, she looks over to see Sansa fast asleep. The Lannister lioness allows herself a contented smile, then snaps her eye mask back into place, breathing in its lavender scent. She needs her comforts and they’ll certainly be up late this week. The little pride dozes safe and warm in their own comfortable row, dreaming their golden dreams as they wing their way closer to the dreamlands of California.