Feasts were the perfect opportunity to make it known that half of the people inside that hall desired him and the other half harbored such a deep hatred for him that he did not doubt they would try to poison every goblet of wine that he accepted from his peers.

The Mad King sat upon his throne, one eye twitching every single time his gaze settled upon Jaime — Gods knew the young, golden man could only shudder every time Aerys ever glanced at him even once.

"... prince sings so well..."

He had found himself not guarding his king, but instead amongst a circle of talking lords and ladies. Cersei wasn't too far, sending Jaime a few looks here and there that told him that he had to pay attention to the conversation, but he could barely keep his mind focused on them.

Instead, he could faintly see three smears of purple in the ballroom from the corner of his eyes, and just the color alone had him tilting his head slightly to get a better look.

Ashara Dayne, with her hair that seemed as dark as the night and eyes the same color of an amethyst. Ser Arthur Dayne, for once, wasn't wearing the armor of the Kingsguard, for he had been granted the day off — deserving, Jaime found, as Arthur rarely ever caught a break.

There, amongst them, was you. Younger than Arthur, older than Ashara, with as much grace as the rest of the people surrounding you. While Ashara commanded with enough charisma to sway the entire court in her favor, Arthur had a silent strength that could only make Jaime bow his head each time he was graced with the knight's presence.

"Jaime, more wine?"

He turned his head once more when he heard the call of his name, gazing into Cersei's hardened stare as she held up a full goblet towards him. The sight of the red liquid was enticing, but he merely shook his head and lifted a hand. His action seemed to surprise Cersei, for his sister's expression turned into a deep frown that couldn't be so easily hidden.

"No, thank you, I've had enough. If you'll excuse me..."

Jaime turned without another word, a hand on the pommel of his sword as he traversed through crowds of people. The crowd of Dayne siblings had been disrupted, but he knew exactly where you would be.

His footsteps were sly and quiet as he pushed aside a large column of tapestry and walked into a seemingly empty balcony — save for your presence.

You were a vision that he longed to etched into his mind forever.

He approached you silently, a hand setting upon the small of your back before he pressed his nose against your temple, his voice a mere murmur in the night air, a whisper that carried off in the wind.

"My starlight."