And wild for to hold
AU. Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish wed.
Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish do not kiss until six months after their wedding. Theirs is not a tale of love at first sight.
Cersei Lannister despises Riverrun. It lacks the magnificence of Casterly Rock, it is far from court, and worst of all it is the home of Catelyn Tully. Little Miss Insufferably Perfect, Catelyn. Lysa is a fool and Edmure is a silly child, but it is Catelyn who irritates Cersei to the core.
That evening, Catelyn is dancing and smiling and blushing prettily, and Cersei rolls her eyes at the buffoons who are trying to catch her attention. They have a funny look on their face, these men who are so entranced with the trout girl. As though she were the maiden reborn. Men also look at Cersei, but their eyes tell a different story. They lust for Cersei, they love Catelyn.
Par for the course, Cersei supposes. Nobody loves her. If her father had loved her he wouldn't have sent her to this dreadful place, to be the ward of these dull, predictable river folk. But that stupid septa had seen Jaime and Cersei fumbling together and she had opened her mouth, and then there was nothing to be done. Cersei had been packed off to Riverrun. Three years she'd spent in this abode. Three wasted years, for she could have spent those years at court, near Rhaegar.
Rhaegar! Another man who did not care for her, who would not gaze at her with that precious look of love.
Cersei glances at Catelyn and smirks. Catelyn is not nearly as pretty as Cersei, and if men insist in dancing with her, in catching her eye, then it is because they are stupid. And maybe any other night this fawning behavior would not disturb her, but she's just had word that Jaime is to wed Ashara Dayne and Petyr is dancing with Catelyn again.
Jaime, wretched fool who had promised to forever love Cersei and now he's writing a letter extolling the many virtues of Ashara, who he's had a chance to get to know in King's Landing. King's Landing! Cersei should be in King's Landing! Not here, at this ridiculous feast and that is four dances that Petyr has danced with Catelyn.
Cersei doesn't even know why she's counting. Petyr is as insufferable as the rest of them, but at least he is not weak. She cannot abide weakness. But that boy is made of steel and she recognizes something in the sardonic arch of his smile, something that she's seen in the mirror.
Look at them, these idiots. That is what Petyr's smile tells her most days. Only now he's not smiling like that, he's just mooning at Catelyn and Cersei downs another cup of wine and she wishes she were far, far away.
Ashara Dayne! One of the most beautiful women in the world, they said. Surely not more beautiful than Cersei. Surely not! Although you wouldn't know she was beautiful and young and desirable in this dreary hall where all the men fear asking her to dance, for her cutting tongue and sharp barbs are already legendary.
And what if she does not wish to dance? These oafs step on ladies' toes, they do not dance. Or else they press the women tight against their bodies, trying to brush a hand against their bosom. Cersei supposes that they'd like her more if she allowed them certain small liberties, like Catelyn and the others allow certain timid gestures.
For example, Catelyn is now beginning her fifth dance with Petyr and five is a bit much, but Catelyn must think it very fun to lead the boy on like this.
Well, what if Cersei does not lead these men on! What if she prefers to sit prim and proper and drink her wine. It is not as if a dance and a bit of conversation with these men would be more enticing. What would they say? The same lines she's heard a thousand times before and oh she's bored and she's angry.
And, ah, at last! Petyr has gone too far, he has tried to coax a kiss from Catelyn but she's pushed him away. Pushed him away and laughed at him. She's a little hypocrite, Catelyn, because Petyr and Catelyn and Lysa have played together at kissing many times. And if Cersei did not participate in those games it was because she had better things to do than make crowns of flowers and pretend that the slim boy with the laughing gray-green eyes was a knight. It's not as if Petyr is really good looking, anyway. Jaime is handsome and Rhaegar is beautiful, and Petyr is just the plain lord of an extremely plain holding.
So, yes, Catelyn is a hypocrite and it serves Petyr right.
He looks utterly miserable, sitting in a corner and downing a cup of ale and Cersei moves close to him, a smile on her lips, for there is nothing that she adores more than a little drop of misery.
"Ah, has Cat tired of you already?" Cersei asks. It's more a purr than a question and Petyr doesn't bother looking at her, he is too busy drinking.
"Go away, Cersei," he says.
She wants him to look at her. He wants him to turn his head and look at her, and she seethes as he sits there ignoring her, drinking, wishing to be alone. But she is going to make him look. By the Seven, she'll make him look.
"Don't be so gloomy. It's not like it's the first time she's laughed at you. She does it all the time. I've heard her joke about you with Lysa. She thinks you're a perfect fool."
This gets her the reaction she wants and Petyr looks at Cersei.
"You lie," he says.
She grins. "I swear it. Don't look so surprised, you know it's true."
He grabs her hand much too tightly, meaning to hurt her, his fingers digging into her wrist, but she pulls back, sharp and quick as a snake and stands up. She stumbles a little. The room wavers. She's had too much to drink.
Well, what of it? Maybe Catelyn will chide her for it later. Little Miss Perfect, who knows to drink the right number of cups and dance the right number of dances.
Cersei stumbles out of the hall and she chuckles even if she can't quite walk straight. She feels as if she is about to retch but there's a wild triumph within her because at least she's won something, she's won this match and that is something.
It has to be something. To have the last word.
He ruins it by following her and when she stumbles Petyr helps her up to her feet and she slaps his arm.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
"You are drunk," he says.
"So are you, you idiot. I saw you back there, crying into your cup."
"I should let you break your neck."
"Let me. I don't need your help. I can find my way to my chambers."
"Very well," he says and he's walking away.
"Where are you going?" she asks.
"You said you can find your way," he replies with a shrug. "I'm going to my chambers."
She notices then that he carries a bottle of wine in his left hand. "Do you intend to drink some more, all alone in the dark?"
"Well, what of it?" he asks, defiant.
"Give me that," she says, snatching the bottle away and between one thing and the other, between taunts and japes, they make it to his room determined to outdrink each other.
It's a stupid child's game and Cersei knows it. As stupid as making flower crowns and pretending this boy in his simple, gray doublet is a knight. But she doesn't wish to go to bed yet and she doesn't wish to go back to the hall and the music and the dance. It is much better to sit on the floor and drink, and play cards.
Petyr is always a good card player, but Cersei has learned a trick or two. After they've played two hands she's bored and to up the stakes, since they have no coins to bet, she tells him whoever loses the next hand must divest themselves from an item of clothing. He shrugs, with that indifferent shrug that is completely his, and agrees.
Two hands later he's lost his vest and shoes, but three hands later she realizes her mistake as she's fumbling with the laces of her dress – he's not that drunk and plays better than her. He asks her if she's a chicken and she fumes and finally takes the dress off and glares at him and she's in her underslip now and they are both sitting on his bed because the floor is cold and hard.
And not long after at they've run out of wine and Cersei is stretching her arms up above her head and yawning, stretching on the bed and looking at the ceiling while he also stretches next to her. She is content. It's an odd feeling. She is used to only feeling the sharp pang of dissatisfaction.
"My brother is to marry Ashara Dayne," she tells him.
"And you despise her," Petyr says.
She's not looking at him, but she knows he's smiling. She can hear it in his voice.
"Oh, I despise everyone," Cersei replies.
"Even me, your very best confidant and ally?" he asks, taunting her.
"I despise you too. But I despise you a little less than the others," she admits.
He lets out a dry chuckle and Cersei closes her eyes. He speaks again, his voice low and for the first time in forever she thinks he actually sounds honest. "Thanks for distracting me."
"I didn't do it for you. I was bored," she mutters.
Maybe he laughs again. She thinks he laughs. And she dreams of Jaime, dreams of the bright, beautiful court at King's Landing. Dreams of Rhaegar playing the harp and the crown she'll never wear. But she also dreams that she's sitting by the river bend and the water is cool against her fingers and the birds are singing.
And then Lysa Tully shatters Cersei's pleasant dream with her screams. Lysa screams so loud Cersei thinks half the castle must have heard her. And they do. That is how and why she is married to Petyr bloody Baelish: because that simpleton crept into his room and found them asleep together.
The madness of it! Of course, Cersei realizes how it looks, she realizes the folly of it all, but she is incensed nevertheless. She wishes she could tell them all to simply call for a septa, to have someone verify her maidenhead is intact. But of course it's not. She was foolish enough to tarry with Jaime the one time he came to Riverrun with the purpose of inspecting Lysa Tully as a possible bride. And now she'll have to marry Petyr Baelish because everyone thinks they are lovers and they've never even held hands.
Oh, if only her father trusted her, trusted her judgment! But Tywin Lannister sent Cersei to Riverrun for a reason and in his cold missive, Cersei can read between the lines.
He despises her. He probably thinks her a slut. Maybe Jaime even opened up his stupid mouth and confessed about that one occasion when they lay together in Riverrun. Maybe he told their father and Tywin forgave Jaime and orchestrated the engagement to Ashara Dayne with an indulging smile.
Cersei doesn't doubt it one bit.
Tywin Lannister demands it, so they marry. It's a miserable little feast and Cersei resents everything about it. She resents her gown, which is hastily procured, resents the bland expressions on everyone's faces, resents the simple cloak Petyr places around her shoulders, resents the fact that Jaime cannot be bothered to attend the wedding. She resents the way the men leer at her and take off her dress during the bedding.
When Petyr walks into the wedding chamber she grips the bedsheets with both hands. "If you touch me, I'll strangle you during the night," she warns him.
"You flatter yourself," he replies.
And she thinks she'll strangle him anyway if he smiles that sardonic smile of his at her again. But he has the common sense to go to sleep with his back to her. That is how their married life begins and it does not change until the tourney at Harrenhal.
Note: In this slightly altered timeline Petyr and Cersei are the same age, about 15-16.