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Chapter 20

Selene waited in the quiet of the godswood. It was peaceful here. The thick walls shut out the clamor of the castle, and she could hear birds singing, the murmur of crickets, and leaves rustling in a gentle wind. The heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, yet Selene Baratheon felt the presence of the old gods, like she had in the north. She wasn't very religious, and the Faith of the Seven never held much appeal to her, but the old gods felt real enough.

Ned Stark had wanted to come, but Selene knew this was something she needed to do alone.

She came at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the walls and towers, and she came alone. For once she was dressed simply, in leather boots and hunting green. When she drew back the hood of her cloak, Selene saw the bruise where the king had struck her. The angry plum color had faded to yellow, and the swelling was down. Selene shared a face bruise as well, but hers was smaller and browning.

"Why here?" Cersei Lannister asked as she stood over her daughter.

"So the gods can see."

The queen sat beside the princess on the grass. Cersei's every move was graceful. Her curling blond hair moved in the wind, and her eyes were green as summer leaves. Selene had almost forgotten how beautiful her mother was.

"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for."

"Do you?" The queen watched her face, wary as a cat. "Is that why you called me hear, child? To pose me riddles? Or do you intend to run me through with your sword, as you did Joffrey?"

"If you truly believed that, you would not have come." Selene eyed Cersei's bruise. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. Has he done this before?"

"Once or twice. Never on the face. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked defiant, "My brother is worth a hundred of your father."

"Your brother," Selene asked, "Or your lover?"

"Both," She did not flinch from the truth, "Since we were children together. And why not? The Targaryens wed brother and sister for three hundred years to keep bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said." The ghost of a smile fluttered over her lips.

When all the pieces finally fit together in her head, Selene should have been furious and revolted. But in truth, Selene felt an immense sadness. For the first time in her life, she understood her mother. She finally knew the reason for those years of angry looks and cutting words. Why her golden children were the queen's pride and joy, while Selene was nothing to her. Understanding didn't make it hurt any less.

"You loved me once," Selene said softly, "You told me so yourself. What made you stop?"

For a second, Selene thought her mother would ignore her, but then she said, "Robert loves you, and only you. Your siblings and I mean nothing. But you….he would give you the world if he could. He put a sword in your hand when all anyone would ever give me was needles. He thinks you get your spirit from him, but you are like me." Cersei sighed, "Beautiful and willful, a silver reflection."

Silver reflection, "The prophecy—"

Cersei's head tilted in confusion and her brows furrowed. It was so believable, except her eyes flashed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Selene sighed. She would have to find out another way. One day, but not today.

"Bran Stark…"

Cersei did not look away, "He saw me and Jaime. I know how you feel about Joffrey, but do you love Tommen and Myrcella?"

Selene straightened, "With all my heart."

"No more than I do."

If it came to that, Selene thought to herself, the life of some child I did not know, against Tommen and Myrcella, what would I do? She prayed she would never have to find out.

"Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen…they are all Jaime's." It was not a question.

"Thank the gods."

The seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only child died in infancy and was black of hair. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far she and Ned looked in those brittle yellow pages, the gold always yielded to coal. One of Selene's first memories was playing with her mother's golden hair. She remembered wishing she shared her mother's locks, but now…she was more grateful for her dark hair than words could possibly express.

"Fourteen years," Selene said, "How is it that you have only one child by my father?"

"You were conceived on the wedding night. I did my duty, and then I was done." Cersei lifted her heard, "If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and have not been with him in years. When he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber, I find other ways. The king is usually too drunk and forgets everything by the next morning."

Selene swallowed. How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them, written on the children's faces. Selene felt sick, "I've heard stories about my father in his youth. He was every inch a king. Thousands of women would have loved him with all their hearts. What did he ever do to make you hate him so?"

Her mother's green eyes burned, "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by a different name. He crawled on me, stinking of wine, and whispered Lyanna." Cersei glanced away angrily. "That she-wolf was a corpse and I was a living girl and he loved her more than me."

Selene knew of the tale of Lyanna Stark. In another life perhaps, Lyanna would have been her mother. Robert was promised to Ned Stark's sister, until Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her. It had been the spark that lit Robert's Rebellion. And the king may have won the battles, but he lost the war for what he truly wanted. The day Lyanna died, she took a piece of Robert with her that Selene would never see.

"You know what I must do."

"Must?" Cersei repeated with disdain. "Yes, I do. You must be loyal to your family."

"And what if my mother's family is against my father's?" Selene said in a hard voice, "What am I to do then?"

Cersei hesitated, "You must do what is best for the realm."

Selene snorted, "King Joffrey is what's best for the realm? Mother, you know what he truly is. Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that Joffrey will be a decent king?"

Cersei flared, "And you want to be queen out of the goodness of your heart? You are ambition dressed as duty."

"I never wanted the Iron Throne." Selene replied. In truth, she never envied Joffrey his title of crown prince. She enjoyed the idea of being the Lady of Winterfell more. A modest castle, a quieter life surrounded by children that are happy and safe…that was what Selene truly wanted. But now it was her duty to her father, her house, and the realm to rule from the most uncomfortable chair in the seven kingdoms. "I just wanted Winterfell."

"And here is your chance." Cersei offered. "Convince Ned Stark to wed his daughter to Joffrey and make him leave the capital. He can live out his days in that grey wasteland he calls home." Her eyes flashed, "And you can go with him. Marry into that wild family, far away from here and live your little quiet life, if you so desperately want it. All you need do," Cersei's smile was as bright as dawn, "is bend the knee."

"I would have, you know, once. Before I knew the truth." Selene stood. "I shall say this only once. When my father returns from the hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You, Joffrey," Selene took a deep breath, "Tommen, and Myrcella, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I would take a ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles. As far as the winds blow."

"Exile," Cersei said, "A bitter cup to drink from."

"A sweeter cup than grandfather served Rhaeger's children," Selene reminded her, bile rising in her throat at the thought of those poor Targaryen babes, "and kinder than you deserve. Grandfather and Jaime would do well to go with you. Tywin's gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to protect you. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you."

"And what of my wrath, Selene?" the queen asked softly. "You intend to spill the blood of your family. Do you think the realm will support you once you claim yourself queen over a trueborn son?"

"Joffrey is no trueborn son." Selene said fiercely, "And I am no kinslayer. By all the laws you should be executed for treason. But I will not stand by and let Tommen and Myrcella grieve for the sake of you. You will take them, you will run, and you will live."

"I intend on doing more than just living." Cersei said as she stood. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." She turned up the hood to hide her swollen face and left Selene in the dark benath the oak, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky. The stars were coming out.

###

The stars were out in full when Selene was telling Ned Stark all that had transpired between her and Cersei.

"Ned!" Renly cried out from the other side of the courtyard. "Selene!" She turned and saw him running toward them, his black doublet soaked with blood.

"It's Robert….we were hunting…a boar."

One moment Selene was standing still, the next she was running at a full sprint to the royal apartments. She could hear Ned's cane tapping the ground behind her as he walked as quick as he was able, but Selene did not wait. She hiked up her skirts with her hands and ran as fast as she could, her long hair swinging behind her.

The royal apartments were in Maegor's Holdfast, a massive square fortress nestled in the heart of the Red Keep behind walls twelve feet thick and a dry moat lined with iron spikes, a castle within a castle. She had spent most of her childhood here, and despite the heat of the city, she felt cold all over.

She passed by several members of the Kingsguard, too scared to look on any of their faces. Finally, she saw Ser Barristan Selmy waiting outside the door of the king's bedchamber. His face was as pale as his armor, which was smeared with blood, and Selene only had to look at him to know that something was dreadfully wrong. The royal steward opened the door. "Princess Selene Bara—" he announced until Selene shoved past him.

"Father!" Selene cried when she entered the room. Fires blazed in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, filling the room with a sullen red glare. The heat within was suffocating. Robert lay across the canopied bed. At the bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle, while servants moved back and forth, feeding logs to the fire and boiling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed beside her husband. Her hair was tousled, as if from sleep, but there was nothing sleepy in her eyes. They followed Selene as Renly came rushing in.

The king still wore his boots. Selene could see dried mud and blades of grass clinging to the leather where Robert's feet stuck out beneath the blanket that covered him. A green doublet lay on the floor, slashed open and discarded, the cloth crusted with red-brown stains. The room smelled of smoke and blood and death.

"Selene," the king whispered when he saw her. His face was as pale as milk. "Come…closer."

Selene stepped closer, sitting by her father's side opposite her mother. She felt Cersei's eyes on her, but all she could do was look down on her father. "What…" she began, throat clenched. Ned Stark finally entered the room, hobbling on his cane.

"A boar." Lord Renly said from where he was pacing by the window.

"A devil," the king husked, "My own fault. Too much wine. Missed my thrust."

"And where were the rest of you?" Selene demanded angrily at her uncle. "Where was the Kingsguard?"

Renly's mouth twitched, "My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone."

Selene lifted the blanket and suppressed a cry.

They had done what they could to close him up, but it was nowhere near enough. The boar must have been a fearsome thing. It had ripped the king from groin to nipple with its tusks. The wine-soaked bandages that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were already black with blood, and the smell of the wound was hideous. Selene's stomach turned as she let the blanket fall.

"Stinks," Robert said, "The stink of death, don't think I can't smell it. Bastard did me good, eh? But I…I paid him back in kind." The king's smile was as terrible as his wound, his teeth red with blood. "Drove a knife right though his eye. Ask them if I didn't. Ask them."

"Truly," Renly murmured, "We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother's command."

"For the feast," Robert whispered, "Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned. Selene," he added, "you can stay."

She smiled as much as she was able, and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Robert, my sweet…" Cersei began.

"I said leave," Robert insisted with a hint of his old fierceness.

Cersei gathered up her skirts and her dignity and led the way to the door. Lord Renly and the others followed. Pycelle lingered, his hands shaking as he offered the king a cup of thick white liquid, "The milk of the poppy, Your Grace," he said, "Drink. For your pain."

Robert knocked the cup away with the back of his hand. "Away with you. I'll sleep soon enough. Get out."

"Damn you, Robert," Ned said when they were alone. He looked like his leg was still giving him pain. "Why do you always have to be so headstrong?"

"Ah, fuck you, Ned." The king said hoarsely, "I killed the bastard, didn't I?" A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. "Ought to do the same for you. Can't leave a man to hunt in peace. Gregor's head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him." His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him, "Gods have mercy," he muttered, swallowing his agony, "The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right…that's why….the gods sent the boar…sent to punish me…" the king coughed blood, and it was all Selene could do not to sob in grief, "Wrong, I…..Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother…worthless…no one to tell me no but you, Ned…only you." He lifted his hand, the gestured pained and feeble, "Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you."

Ned smoothed the paper out across his knee and took up the quill. "At your command, Your Grace."

"This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my…upon my death…to rule in my stead, until my son Joffrey comes of age…"

"Father," Selene interrupted, looking down and seeing her own blue eyes reflect back at her. She had never noticed the flecks of gold in his eyes before. They made his eyes seem brighter, even as he lay here dying. She glanced at Ned. Lord Stark's lips were pressed, and she knew that Ned couldn't bear to tell his friend the truth. But she needed her father's council now more than ever. Stark honor prevented Ned from speaking a painful truth.

But Selene was not a Stark yet.

"Joffrey is not your son." Selene nearly choked on her words, her breathing sharp. Her heart felt like it would split in two, but she had no choice.

Ned looked taken aback. Robert's brows drew together in confusion. That was the worst part. He didn't seem to understand.

"What?" he whispered.

"Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella…" Selene breathed, "all bastards, born from the queen's infidelity."

Robert scanned Ned, hoping for an explanation or a contradiction. Ned nodded solemnly. Robert's neck purpled, and soon it spread to his face.

"The queen shall die for this," Robert tried to rise, but pain kept him down, "And the father?" He asked furiously, agony and rage on his face.

"We don't know." Ned said quickly, before Selene could answer. No doubt Ned wanted to shield Robert from the worst of it, that the queen laid with her own twin brother, and the children he thought were his own are the product of incest. "Selene is your only trueborn child."

Robert was in a murderous rage. He would have hit something if he had the strenght, "I...I am going to..."

"Father, please," Selene interrupted, "I need your help."

Robert turned to his daughter, eyes searching her face. He closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly, calming himself. After several minutes, his face returned to its pale color, and when he opened his eyes, they were like the sea after a storm passes. "Perhaps I always knew. Deep down. You are…like me in every way…but wiser" The king nearly smiled, "You will be a great queen."

Selene realized that she was crying.

"Do not weep for me, my dear. Queens do not weep." He smiled, "And you will be Queen Regnant, the first in the history of Westeros."

Selene shook her head, "Mother will not go away meekly. There will be a war."

At that, a gleam seemed to appear in Robert's eye.

"I've dreamed of war for years. A new one comes along…and I had to go and die before the good part."

Selene laughed sharply in disbelief. Her father straightened where he lay. He seemed to be drawing strength from somewhere.

"I may not be able to give you a realm in peace, but perhaps there is something I can give you." When Selene looked confused, Robert added, "Victory."

Renly walked in when he was summoned. The blood on his doublet was black and dried, and his forehead was creased.

"Is there anything I can do, brother?" He asked.

"You can bow to your queen."

Renly's head snapped back in surprise as he glanced from Robert to Selene and back again. "Joffrey…"

"Baseborn, all of them." Ned Stark said to her uncle. "Except Selene."

Renly didn't argue, and Selene wondered just how many at court knew but kept quiet. Renly's frown did not go away, "The laws of succession for the Iron Throne established by the Targaryens after the Dance of Dragons state that any available male heir inherits before a female. Stannis is-"

"Do I look like a fucking Targaryen to you?" Robert's words were no longer breaking, "Ned, answer me this, in all the kingdoms, who would be my rightful heir?"

Ned answered surely, "A trueborn daughter would inherit before the lord's younger brother by laws of every kingdom. A lord's younger brother can only inherit after the lord's entire bloodline is exhausted, including his—"

"Trueborn daughter," Robert finished, "And all her children after her. Seeing as I am not Targaryen, I think my successor is clear." Her father coughed for several minutes. The end was near, but Robert was going out with a fight. All eyes in the room fell on Renly, waiting for him to make his decision. For a terrible moment, Selene thought he might refuse.

Renly swallowed, "I never liked Lannisters, anyway." His face broke into a smile as he drew his sword, placed the tip on the floor, and bent the knee by the side of the bed, looking up at his niece.

Selene had heard her father say the words, but now they came from her own lips, "I ask you to pledge your loyalty to the royal branch of House Baratheon. To serve as our bannerman and come to our aid whenever called upon."

Renly looked up at her seriously and nodded.

"Stand," Selene said.

"Will you stand beside me, Renly of House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Lord of Storm's End, now and always?"

"Now and always."

Selene smiled at her uncle as she stood. He stood over a head taller. She threw her arms around his torso, and he hugged her back fiercely, kissing her gently on the forehead. "I will write to Stannis," Renly said.

Selene glanced nervously at the men in the room, "What if my uncle Stannis does not yield? What if he claims himself king under the Targaryen laws of succession?"

Robert and Renly were silent. It was Ned who spoke, "I am sure Lord Stannis will see reason."

Robert nodded from the bed. "Through your marriage with the Stark boy, you will have the north." He glanced at Ned.

Ned straightened in his chair and turned to Selene, "The north is yours, Your Grace."

Robert continued, "The Westerlands will be against you. The Lannisters will see to that. The Crownlands will be paid off and be for Cersei."

"The smallfolk know me." Selene argued, "I walk amongst the people."

"You do," Robert countered, "And the Lannisters will feed them and blame you for the war to come. The commoners may wish for you, but they will fight for the person who pays them and speaks peace."

Selene felt she was glimpsing the Robert Baratheon of legend. The general and warrior that had filled the verses of countless songs.

"The Dornish will not rise. They have no love for Baratheons or Lannisters. The Eeyrie is ruled by Jon Arryn's widow, and from what I remember the woman's wits are frayed." He glanced apologetically at Ned. "But with Catelyn Tully as your good mother and Lysa Tully as your aunt by marriage, then you will have the Riverlands and the Vale. All that remains is—"

"The Reach." Renly finished, eyes blazing. "And I can get it for you."

Selene's brows drew together, "How, uncle?"

"I have friends in high places," Renly said. "There's a Tyrell maid who they say is as lovely as the dawn. With your leave, brother, I'll negotiate a marriage."

Robert smiled, teeth red, and for a moment Selene forgot that he was dying. She remembered anew.

"I can't do it without you." Selene said hoarsely to her father. Robert Baratheon had not been a great king. He had bankrupted the kingdom. He had not been a great father. Robert had neglected Tommen and Myrcella, and as much as Selene hated to believe it, perhaps he did favor her so highly out of spite for Cersei. But he was her father and he had loved her as good as he was able. Selene felt her grief sharp like a knife in her chest.

"You will." The king insisted, coughing up blood. He turned to Ned, "The damn will…"

Ned nodded, picking up his quill. Robert's strength seemed to fade as the talk of war ended.

"This is the will and word of Robert Baratheon, First of his…you know the rest. I hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my death…until my only trueborn child and heir Selene Baratheon comes of age."

"Robert," Ned's voice was thick, "you must not do this. Don't die on me. The realm needs you."

Robert took his hand, squeezing so hard his knuckles went white, "You are…such a bad liar, Ned Stark," he said through his pain, "The realm…the realm knows…what a wretched king I've been. Bad as Aerys, the gods spare me."

"No," Ned said quickly, "not as bad as Aerys, Your Grace. Not near so bad."

Robert managed a weak smile, "At the least, they will say…this last thing…this I did right. You'll rule now, Ned. You'll hate it worse than I did, but you'll do it well."

"The girl. Daenerys." The king breathed, "Let her live. If you can, if it…not too late…talk to them…Varys, Littelefinger…don't let them kill her. And help Selene, Ned." The king's eyes were wet with tears, "Make her better than me. Shouldn't be too hard…she already is."

Selene laughed through her tears. Ned smiled, "That I will, my friend. That I will."

The king closed his eyes and seemed to relax. "Killed by a pig" he muttered, "Ought to laugh, but it hurts too much."

Ned Stark was not laughing. "Should I call them back in, Your Grace?"

"No, I should be alone." Robert looked at his daughter. "Selene…I don't have much time…you don't want to see this."

Tears blurred her vision, "I won't leave you." She reached for his hand and held it fiercely. "I'll stay."

Renly left the room. Ned Stark left the room. Selene stayed. She listened to her father's shaky breaths. Listened to his cries of agony and pleads for the Mother's mercy. But she never took her eyes off his face. Robert Baratheon was scared and dying, Selene would not let him be alone.

She started singing softly,

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, font of mercy

Save our sons from war, we pray

Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

Teach us all a kinder way

Robert seemed to be relaxing, so Selene continued, although her voice was airy and cracking. Tame the fury? This hymn didn't seem appropriate for Robert's death. But perhaps death was the only thing that could tame a Baratheon.