Okay, before this chapter begins there is some minor information required. I have altered the details of Cersei and Jaime's relationship somewhat to better fit the tale I am attempting to tell here. It is implied that Cersei and Jaime had developed a romantic relationship well before Cersei was married to Robert. However, here, Cersei has not actually ever slept with Jaime before, though not for lack of a desire to. I think this fits the story much better, and will play into the plot in a more interesting way later down the line.
Also, in response to my man Leo, you are 100% correct. Tywin Lannister would never say please to anyone. That was a mistake on my part and I'll own it, even if it is embarrassing to miswrite one of your favorite characters.
Further note, I kind of imagine Felix wearing a kind of 18th century style European military officer's uniform, while Petrus is kind of like Oenomaus from the Spartacus TV series. Just for the visually minded people out there.
Cersei I
Sunlight slowly filtered into the room through the wide and extravagantly furbished windows. A golden light spilled over the floor, painting beautiful patterns of flowers and intricate geometric shapes as a result of the fenestration. It was quite the sight, indicating the dedication to the design of The Red Keep. The sun could be quite beautiful too in theory. Too bad the rays pierced her eyes so painfully that she was roused from her restless sleep.
Cersei Lannister groaned in exhausted frustration, squinting her eyes tightly shut against the sharp glare of the sun. She wondered how the object which seemingly brought life to the world could simultaneously be so obnoxious. Red light shone even through her closed eyelids, and her head pounded. Though, the head pounding came from the wine last night – she had drunk quite a lot.
But, then again, it could just be her mind reminding her of the abject horror she felt last night. Well, the horror and the physical pain.
Cersei had wanted so badly for her marriage to Robert to be everything she had ever dreamed of. She wanted to be powerful, beloved, and feared. She wanted every man in the Seven Kingdoms to think of her when they fucked their wives and whores, and she wanted every woman to wish to be her. Cersei wanted Robert to heed her every word, take her council, and treat her with all the respect she deserved as a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Cersei even went so far as to wish that Robert might care for her. She did not ask that he love her, only that he at least treat her well.
It seemed already that her dreams regarding Robert were shattered.
She hadn't exactly known what to expect sex to feel like, but she certainly hadn't expected it to feel like the encounter with the new king. It was so rough, so painful, nothing like the pure pleasure she thought it would be.
Robert was a hard man, a soldier through and through who knew no way other than the way of brute force. This applied to his treatment of Cersei last night as well, and she hated him for it. He fumbled about and wielded his dick like a hammer, not a sword. Then, to make matters worse – as if they could be worse given the bruises she had received during the consummation – Robert had cried out for the now deceased Lyanna Stark as he climaxed. Cersei remembered thinking it odd that Robert had insisted that she face away from him, but it made sense now in her hungover and sexually battered mind.
His quest of vengeance was now over, but Robert would never truly move past the death of Lyanna, and he would never be able to fuck another woman without thinking of the wild Stark girl. Cersei hated him for that. Robert would never be able to appreciate Cersei for who she was and would only see her as a poor replacement for his beloved.
Cersei clumsily rolled out of bed, falling to the floor on her hands and knees. She grunted and stumbled to her feet before dazedly traversing the bedchamber to snatch up a red silken robe and cover her naked body. Cersei shivered slightly, feeling suddenly cold despite the warmth of the sun poking through the windows and just under the curtains separating the balcony from the inside. At no point in her nineteen years of life, with the possible exception of her mother's death, had Cersei ever felt so alone and afraid.
She quickly tied the sash around her waist, holding the robe in place before quietly stepping out onto the balcony, leaving the curtains closed and shutting the door with hardly a sound. Robert likely wouldn't wake for hours, considering how drunk he was last night, and Cersei was glad of that.
Sunlight once again powered its way into her open eyes now that she stood in the open air. Cersei inhaled deeply, attempting to absorb whatever radiance she could now with the hope that it would serve her later when darkness attempted to crush her soul.
She still couldn't believe that she would have to carry out more sex with Robert, repeatedly with the intent to produce an heir. The act was torturous, and the outcome… Cersei did not even know what she would gain from such a thing. She had never had an affinity for children before, and it didn't seem likely that she would just develop one as soon as she mothered her own.
But, until she was a mother, Cersei would be alone, nearly completely in King's Landing. Her father would return to Casterly Rock in the near future. Whether it would be tomorrow, or in a week's time, she did not know, but Cersei was aware that it would not be long before she and Jaime were the only two Lannisters in King's Landing. At least she would have her brother, just as she always had.
So, once again, they would be alone, brother and sister with no one else to trust. Despite her thinking, a familiar image once again punched its way into her mind as it had many times over the past few days, an image Cersei thought unlikely to see again. Pale blue eyes stared at her from her mind's eye. They radiated intelligence as no other eyes ever could, yet they were cold and betrayed a constant calculation occurring behind them.
Felix Tabor's presence at the ceremony last night had been a welcome sight to Cersei. She smiled, recalling how he intentionally stood amongst the Lannister loyalists and not on the side of the new king where his father and brother did. Then, later, seeing him – a man the size of The Hound and maybe more well-muscled – conversing with the much smaller and more treacherous lords Petyr Baelish and Varys, was almost comical. But, Felix seemed to fit in with the longstanding Spymaster and the new Master of Coin much better than he would ever fit with the kingdom's knights.
Upon her first meeting him, Cersei remembered him explaining to her exactly why he found knights and knighthood so ridiculous. It was quite the dissertation, equipped with all the necessary logical arguments one might expect in reading a maester's textbook. Perhaps that was the moment she became so immediately intrigued with the young man.
It was now two years since their meeting at the Great Tourney at Harrenhal. The event had been a spectacular affair, and the finest knights and most powerful lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms were in attendance. The festivities themselves were to last a whole week, but the competition was to take only three of those days. Much had taken place during that week, and the outcome of that tournament still echoed in the present. Jaime was made a Kingsguard and Rhaegar Targaryen gave his favor to Lyanna Stark rather than Elia Martell. Then he kidnapped her.
How much trouble could one woman cause? Cersei had met Lyanna, but she hadn't found her particularly beautiful. Rebellious? Certainly. But beautiful? No.
On the first night's feast, which she had not even been interested in attending thanks to the exhaustion brought to her during the travel east, Cersei spotted a lone figure across the room. He was young, only a year older than she, and he was massive. The boy was vaguely of Dornish appearance but retained many of the blunter facial features of most northern Westerosi. His hair was of medium length, completely unkempt, and black as night. A near condescending arrogance radiated off of him in every direction. Then, he had looked up to meet her gaze and Cersei had seen the adamantine eyes. She mistook him for one of the competitors at first, perhaps a man from the Reach judging by his appearance.
Later though, he had simply sat down next to her soundlessly. The other Lannister men and women were rather incensed by his abrasion, but her father recognized the boy. Tywin picked him out as The Architect, the second born son of Hadrius Tabor II. When asked, Felix explained that he was trying to get as far away from his family as possible but said nothing more. Tywin accepted his presence, mostly out of pure curiosity.
Yet, after hours of feasting, it was Cersei who was enjoying his presence the most. Felix showed himself to be far wiser than the brute he appeared as, and he was quite funny in a dry sort of way. They met and talked, spending time together during the week at Harrenhal. Felix's brother was competing, but Felix himself was forbidden from taking part after greatly angering his father by besting Hadrius III in a sparring match just prior to the tournament.
That left them free to talk for hours, and they did just that. Felix explained concepts to Cersei that she had never even considered reasonable before, such as the idea that the drop in flight of an arrow could be measured, and that the rate of descent for an arrow was equivalent to that of a falling rock or a sword. She had explained to him much of the Lannister family history, and Felix easily absorbed the information.
They did nothing more than talk. Cersei remembered on multiple occasions trying to demonstrate her quickly growing affections for Felix, yet he remained completely oblivious, which Cersei supposed was part of his charm. It was frustrating all the same however, and by the final night of the event, Cersei was practically desperate for any form of returned affection. She never received it.
Felix explained to her just how much he had appreciated her company during the week and told her that she had become a close friend of his. For Cersei, it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She always wanted more. Yet, it seemed unlikely that Felix would be able to provide her any more.
But now, here he was again, in close proximity for only a short time. And, once again, Cersei found her hopes rising that there could be something between Felix and herself. She did have at least one other ally in King's Landing then. One ally that could become the salvation to her loneliness.
Felix II
Felix did not mind the extra time it would take to walk to the camp established outside the city. He valued his personal time, and he also greatly appreciated the chance to get away from King's Landing, a massive cesspool of shit which had been his home for the past week following the sacking of the city and the preparations for the wedding. Most of the events which occurred in that city were of the most atrocious variety.
Most of the guests in attendance of the wedding still slept, heavily hungover from the previous night's drinking. As he exited the Red Keep, he found that he was quite likely one of the only human beings inside – short of the servants, many of whom were probably hungover themselves – that had not drunk himself into oblivion. As for those who weren't considered 'important' enough to attend the wedding, they too enjoyed a night of partying. The city watch, along with the soldiers of the Lannister army, Vale army, and Northern forces, spent the night celebrating raucously. Felix, being seriously distracted by the chaos in the city streets and beyond, had only managed to fall asleep four or so hours ago.
Only somewhat dragging thanks to exhaustion Felix wove his way through the minimal population out and about during the early morning hours. Many in King's Landing did not wake so early as the people who lived out in the country. There was not as much work to do when you weren't farming, and this population of people preferred to do its work at night. Whores abounded, as did pickpockets and other malcontents looking to make money through less than reputable means.
A few beggars looked to him with pleading eyes and outstretched hands, but Felix paid them no mind – not because he did not pity them, but because he knew that no amount of money he provided to them would help. Though, he supposed he could have picked one poor soul and made him a personal servant, but Felix didn't have time for that now.
He walked through the lowered city gate, trekking across the wide-open field before the city. That field, which Felix assumed was usually rather quiet, was currently covered in tents of all sizes and shapes. Most tents were color coded to indicate the particular banner they fought for, and they further separated themselves into sections based upon regiment. It made it easier to locate the particular man Felix sought out, the one man he wanted by his side during the upcoming months and years.
Felix located and approached the tents belonging to House Tabor's men. They were usually either white or black, which helped him pick them out of the crowd, but it was mostly the presence of the large banner flying overhead that demarked the section. It depicted two triangles, one overlapping the other, appearing as a large arrow pointing upward. The bottom of the two triangles was filled in black, while the overlapping triangle showed only an outline. Set over the white background too were a series of four gradually shrinking dots extending from the tip of the overlapping triangle. Grandpa Tabor had a rather unusual artistic sense it seemed. Felix rather wished he had asked Hadrius I about his choice of banner.
Regardless, it did not take long for Felix to pick out his friend's tent. It was made up in pristine fashion, with not a single wrinkle on its surface, perfectly befitting of the inhabitant's personality. Petrus was a meticulous sort of man, exactly the type to keep his tent in a perfect state of cleanliness.
He entered without preamble, not even bothering to announce himself. Petrus sat within, back turned to the entrance, resting back on his knees. Slow deep breaths emanated from the man seemingly filling the tent with a gentle wind.
Petrus was a large serious man, standing at six feet three inches and bearing not an ounce of fat on his body. He was not in his fighting prime anymore at forty-three years of age, but Petrus was certainly not one to trifle with either. His skin was dark, and his head was always perfectly shaved, not a single hair to be seen. Currently – as in most situations – Petrus wore his leather breastplate but leaving his arms bared to the elements.
Felix did not speak. He merely watched as Petrus meditated calmly, a morning practice which he would engage in for sometimes three hours or more. Petrus, being the naturally aware man he was, probably recognized the presence that had entered his tent, especially since Felix had not taken any effort to disguise his presence.
"How may I help you?" Petrus questioned finally after a heavy sigh, Summer Island accent standing out strongly.
"I would like to speak to you about an important promotion Petrus," Felix replied bemusedly.
The change in Petrus's demeanor was immediately evident as he recognized Felix's voice. House Tabor's Master at Arms moved quickly to his feet, turned, and set his back ramrod straight as he addressed the son of his lord.
"My Lord, I apologize I did not recognize your presence," Petrus bowed his head slightly.
"You're not speaking to my father Petrus, there is no need for apology."
"Rank and position are important matters My Lord, not so easily dismissed," Petrus said. "I am a servant of House Tabor, and I should behave accordingly."
"Not all servants behave with such respect," Felix commented lightly as he tapped his fingers lightly against his leg.
Petrus said nothing in return, only meeting Felix's gaze with a blank, brown-eyed stare. He had certainly mastered the soldierly obedience look.
"Regardless, as I said I am here to discuss a promotion," Felix continued.
"Whose?" Petrus asked in reply.
"Yours."
Petrus then blinked, breaking eye contact at last only to appear completely confused. He remained silent for another few moments as he thought over Felix's answer.
"How do you mean?" Petrus asked eventually.
"Father leaves today, to return to Luna Meridiem," Felix explained. "As you are sworn to him, being House Tabor's Master at Arms and all, you must return."
"Yes," Petrus nodded, not bothering to anticipate Felix's line of thinking, but being obviously curious.
"However, last night, our brand-new king Robert made me his Master of Ships. He also made me lord of Dragonstone. That makes me equal to my father in rank."
"I still am sworn to serve Lord Hadrius II."
"Yes, but a higher order vow could override that particular promise," Felix said. "So, as my first act as Lord Felix of Dragonstone, I'm knighting you."
Petrus was, once again, shocked into silence. Despite his great service in the name of House Tabor, neither Lord Hadrius I nor II had made the decision to knight Petrus. He was – for the next few minutes – still a commoner.
"Dragonstone is still in the hands of the Targaryens," Petrus returned. "You don't even have a castle."
"But I am a lord," Felix responded. "And you are to be my first sworn sword."
Petrus's stoic expression then broke at last, face cracking into a wide grin. He knelt before Felix, resting his elbow across his raised knee. Felix could almost feel the pride radiating off Petrus's skin as he achieved something he had likely dreamed of for over twenty years.
Felix reached over his shoulder and drew his sword from its sheath on his back. It was a good sword, and had served him well during the rebellion, but it was nothing particularly special. No Valyrian Steel for him.
He composed himself for a moment as the sword hovered over Petrus's head. His father had never taught him the vows of knighthood and fealty, thinking Felix would never be required to use them. Felix wasn't exactly sure what to say.
But, he had never been one to follow tradition specifically.
"In the name of some fucking Gods that probably aren't real, I charge you to… be knightly?" Felix meandered along, speaking irreverently. "Fuck it. Arise Ser Petrus of Walano. You're a knight now, congratulations."
"I offer my services Lord Felix of the House Tabor. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," Petrus stated, apparently knowing the words to be given in this sort of vow.
"Thank you," Felix replied.
"You're supposed to vow that I will always have a place at your hearth in response."
"You will. Now stand up," Felix gestured upward with his sword.
Petrus sighed in resignation, then joined his new lord in standing. He was a man who valued tradition, and he probably found Felix's relative dismissal of such things to be silly at best.
"Thank you," Petrus said, hiding his elation quite well behind a small smile.
"You're the one agreeing to fight for me," Felix replied with a light smirk.
"Nonetheless, your confidence in me is much appreciated."
"Glad to be free of my father?"
Petrus said nothing as his face remained stony.
"Speak honestly," Felix encouraged. "I'm the only one who will hear about it."
"I am not unhappy to serve you instead," Petrus returned diplomatically.
For Petrus that was the equivalent of a resounding yes.
"What now then?" Petrus asked. "I assume I will remain here in King's Landing with you."
"You will," Felix said. "We're stuck here until my fleet arrives from Storm's End."
"How did you arrange such a thing?"
"Robert did. He just gave me half the ships in the Stormlands. I suppose he imagines that's Stannis's problem now."
"A foolish decision," Petrus remarked.
"Indeed, but would you decline it if you were in my place?" Felix quipped.
A brief amiable silence passed between the old instructor and student. Petrus seemed quite pleased overall with his knighthood, and Felix was certainly happy to have at least one soul whom he could trust implicitly to advise him.
"Collect your belongings Ser Petrus," Felix broke the silence. "There's work to be done."
Felix did not bother to watch his father's departure along with the forces of Luna Meridiem. He couldn't care less, even if it was likely, given his father's drinking habit, that he would probably never see his father again. The large forces of men outside the city gradually filtered out as the day went along.
The Northern forces were the first to leave, followed by the Vale forces and the army of Luna Meridiem. Lannister men remained in and around King's Landing to protect the city against any would-be attacks from loyalist houses. The Tyrells and Martells – the largest of the loyalist houses – had sworn themselves to Robert through messages sent by raven, but each had a date upon which leaders would arrive in King's Landing to make their fealty official. Yet, rather wisely, Robert had elected to keep the Lannister men around the city until each of those meetings were completed, and until such a time, Tywin Lannister would remain to command his force.
The long road toward establishing a new regime in Westeros had begun it seemed. It would likely be many years before Robert's reign came to be accepted across the continent, but most were glad to be free of Aerys Targaryen's rule.
Currently, only two men sat in the Small Council chamber in waiting for their fellows to join them. The first was Felix himself, currently engrossed in a book on shipbuilding. Multiple diagrams lay before him, which he had copied and inflated to appear larger. The second was Varys, who sat in complete silence, barely moving as he watched Felix go about his learning.
It seemed to him, after only a few hours studying the various designs of ships – at a basic level of course – that tremendous progress could be made through work on sail technology. Most vessels sailed by the Westerosi navy bore two masts, with each mast rigging one square shaped sail. To Felix, there were many obvious issues with this design, namely that it was exceedingly difficult to sail in any direction but downwind. Sailing in any direction approaching upwind would be downright impossible.
Perhaps a larger boat could be built with three or more masts, the larger ones toward the center of the ship for better balance. Big square sails could be rigged to the central masts, while triangular sails could be rigged to fore and aft masts. Perhaps the square sails could also be folded in such a way as to catch the wind when travelling against the breeze as well.
Also, a glaring weakness seemed to be the lack of weaponry aboard fighting vessels. Currently, sailors would fire arrows upon each other, and a boat would occasionally be mounted with a giant crossbow for longer range attacks.
It seemed the potential, not to attack enemy sailors, but to attack the enemy ship was largely being ignored. Where there were deficiencies in thought, there was always opportunity, and there was a great deal of opportunity when it came to arming vessels with ship destroying weaponry. Large rams located on the prows of ships were occasionally used, but projectiles were not considered, not nonsensically though, as the projectiles to be fired would have to be quite heavy to inflict any major damage.
The other members of the Small Council entered with a loud bang, as Robert threw the door open vengefully. Petyr Baelish, Pycelle, and Jon Arryn followed just behind the king, Petyr carrying a book, Pycelle waddling along slowly, and Jon managing to appear by far the calmest and most normal of the four.
Petyr sent a nod of acknowledgement to Felix as the Master of Ships looked up from his diagrams. Robert bulled his way into the chair at the head of the table, while the others took seats based upon the insignias stitched into the cushions. Felix's own chair was marked by a depiction of a ship, sitting alongside Varys, whose chair was marked with a spider.
Jon sat opposite of the king at the other end of the table, pulling a small roll of parchment from his pocket and unfurling it before placing it on the table. Felix determined it to be a listing of multiple topics to be discussed, including loyalists, reconstruction, and Targaryens. Obviously, it was shorthand, but Felix could comfortably assume the direction the discussion would take.
"I want to host a fucking tournament," Robert announced, seemingly out of nowhere – also shattering Felix's conversational expectations. "I'm the new king, and I just got married. There's cause to celebrate, and what better way to do it than with a good old-fashioned melee?"
"Perhaps we should focus on the matters at hand Your Grace?" Jon spoke, suggesting quite strongly that they should speak on the topics from his planner first.
"I'm the fucking king," Robert announced. "And I want to have a fucking tournament."
"There… hmm… may be some merit to the idea…" Pycelle stuttered out. "It would do well for… hmm... the king to ingratiate himself to the populace."
"The masses do love a good fight," Varys agreed. "Perhaps a tournament would be for the best."
He turned toward Jon, meeting eyes with the Lord of The Vale. Jon sighed and nodded once.
"Very well," he assented. "I will arrange it immediately. What reward should be provided to the winner?"
"Fifty-thousand gold dragons," Robert stated. "Well, fifty-thousand to the man who comes second to me."
He laughed heartily at his own joke, while Felix cocked an eyebrow in his direction. Robert, as the king, shouldn't be competing in tournaments, and Felix very much doubted he would face any competition anyway – what man would dare defeat the king in combat? Too risky a proposition.
"How affordable is the expense lord Petyr?" Jon questioned.
"I can find the necessary funds," Petyr answered. "There should be no problem."
Unable to bear the incessant economic blindness before him, Felix finally spoke up.
"Whatever resources you plan to allocate to the tournament would be better spent rebuilding the city," Felix said. "Or even better, paying back the Mad King's debts."
"You're on the king's Small Council," Robert returned somewhat aggressively. "It's your job to carry out my orders, not make up your own."
"Do you want to go broke?" Felix questioned, ignoring Robert's warning.
Robert's eyes flashed dangerously as he locked onto Felix's gaze. The pale blue eyes of the half Dornishman, like shields, reflected the incoming arrows fired from the king. Felix was firmly aware he was treading a fine line, but he did not plan to push so far as to anger Robert. What a failure that would be, angering the king during his first day as a counselor.
"I am the king," Robert muttered lowly and dangerously. "I will do as I please with my money."
Felix very nearly told Robert that the money he would be spending did not belong to him, but he simply turned his attention back to his book and diagrams instead. He carried the tip of his quill over the parchment, drawing in quick edits to the picture of the two masted ship. A third, then a fourth mast appeared, slightly taller than the two other masts. He added sails to the design, triangular and square shaped.
"Your Grace, if I could interject?" Jon Arryn spoke quickly to cover the awkward silence. "I might suggest that you not compete."
Robert's eyes whipped around to Jon's. As an old mentor of Robert's, Jon was perhaps the only single human in King's Landing who could really tone down the king's wild nature. Yet, Robert seemed just slightly above the level of purely enraged.
"It would not be viewed well to see the king compete," Jon continued. "Then there's the risk of serious injury as well. Imagine if you received a wound which then became infected. The maester could be forced to amputate a limb, or you could die."
"You think I'm going to be killed by some fucking green pussies competing in a tournament?" Robert questioned incredulously.
"No, I'm merely suggesting the possibility."
"That is not a possibility Jon Arryn!" Robert shouted back. "Arrange for the tournament to take place in exactly two weeks, fifty-thousand to the man who comes second to myself."
With a harsh grunt, Robert shoved himself up from the table and stomped violently from the council chamber. They all watched him go, each one of the councilors being rather unsure as to the boundaries regarding correcting the king's behavior. Felix felt quite certain that any correction would be well outside his station, not that he particularly cared to stick within the generally accepted rules of respect for any person at all.
The door slammed hard as Robert departed, leaving the others in complete silence. Jon's eyes flicked down to his agenda, seeming to wonder whether he was supposed to review the topics with Robert, or ignore him altogether.
"Well that was mildly childish," Felix commented as he glanced up from his papers.
"Watch your tongue boy," Jon lashed out, sounding almost as though he was reflecting his own frustrations with Robert onto Felix. "You're speaking of your king. Speak respectfully."
Felix only sighed, having grown far too used to calls for him to be more respectful. Perhaps he was rather cruel, but Felix still considered himself a truth speaker at heart. Besides, Lord Jon Arryn had never held great love for House Tabor, considering their rebellious past against the rightful lords of the Vale. He turned back to the papers, considering lethal weaponry to use against opposing ships.
"Lord Petyr," Jon then spoke again. "You will need to arrange for the funds to be available at the time of the tournament. Make sure we have the money."
"Understood My Lord Hand," Petyr replied easily, as he made a note in his own book.
Felix casually made a few quick strikes across the paper, questioning the potential to make his grenades bigger. Maybe he could launch them further as well. Perhaps a giant sort of crossbow could fire explosive bolts, but that struck him as slightly too dangerous, given the difficulty of creating a bomb which would explode upon impact and the potential for tremendous error.
"Right, the next of many matters to consider is that of the loyal houses," Jon stated, glancing to his notes. "As you all know, many lords, both minor and major hold out hope that the Targaryens may return to the throne. It is our job now to ensure that we persuade those dissenters to King Robert's side.
"The Wardens of the Riverlands, Stormlands, and the North all have orders to encourage compliance with the current regime. It is better to receive encouragement from your liege-lord than from the new king himself."
"Yes, Robert is wise not to act in any fashion that might be considered tyrannical, especially considering the nature of the previous ruler," Varys said knowingly, glancing at Jon as though he had some sort of idea that Robert himself had not created the policy.
"Indeed," Jon agreed with a nod. "However, there are the other kingdoms still to consider. The Westerlands will remain fiercely and fearfully loyal to Tywin Lannister, and we are unlikely to see any dissent from Lannister vassals. However, there are still the Crownlands, Reach, and Dorne to consider. Any of these kingdoms could, if negotiations were to develop poorly, descend into minor rebellion."
"What of the Iron Islands?" Petyr questioned. "Surely their loyalty should be secured as well."
"The Ironborn hold no loyalty to the king," Felix replied without glancing up from his diagrams. "They only stay in line so long as the threat of overwhelming military force remains at their doorstep. Securing their loyalty would be akin to letting a child play with a pet python."
"Hmm… pythons are rather hmm… docile actually," Pycelle interjected tangentially. "Very rarely… hmm… behaving aggressively toward hmm…" He trailed off, seemingly to tired to finish his thought.
"Yes, they are quite docile until they eat children," Felix quipped. "They don't eat adults because adults are too large, but a child is bite sized and very easy to defeat in a contest of strength."
"What do you know of pythons?!" Pycelle asked standing from his chair and leaning over the table, suddenly aggressive, his feeble mannerisms fading instantaneously. "You are no maester!"
"Grand Maester, I'd ask that you please return to your seat," Jon requested tiredly. "There is no need for this."
"I will not!" Pycelle declared. "This boy's insolence… hmm… is incredible. He is certainly… hmm… not capable of speaking on scientific matters."
"I am perfectly capable of speaking on whatever matters I like," Felix said, looking up from his papers toward Pycelle.
"That's enough!" Jon roared. "We have important matters to attend to, and this debate on pythons is irrelevant to those matters."
Pycelle said nothing, eyes wide as he looked at the Hand. Felix similarly said nothing, quietly returning to his ships while Pycelle slowly took his seat again.
"Now, I believe that Lord Felix is correct on his point regarding the Iron Islands," Jon stated. "Even an open rebellion by the Ironborn would pose little threat to the kingdoms given their lack of organization and resources. Rebellions in the other kingdoms could pose a great danger, maybe not to Robert's kingship directly, but they could be a severe drain on the kingdom's resources for many years if not kept in check."
"Perhaps similar hmm… measures could be employed with these rebels…" Pycelle mumbled. "A military threat could… hmm… quell dissent."
"Too taxing on the kingdom's resources Pycelle," Felix returned, as he once again looked up from his diagrams. "Maintaining a constant standing army is expensive, and Robert definitely doesn't have the money to enact such measures."
Pycelle appeared perturbed once again, like he was preparing to verbally assault Felix for the second time in five minutes, yet he managed to keep his mouth shut. That was a positive development. Felix was already making great strides with the councilors.
"Agreed," Varys mentioned from alongside Felix. "I have also heard tell from my little birds that the presence of Lord Tywin's army in the Crownlands, along with his rather brutal march on King's Landing, has served as an effective deterrent to would-be rebels."
"And that comes at Tywin's expense, not Robert's," Felix nodded.
"You seem quite fascinated with the subject of costs despite holding the position of Master of Ships, not Master of Coin," Petyr commented jokingly.
Felix chuckled lightly to himself while Jon spoke again.
"As I am sure you are aware, both the Tyrells and Martells have sworn fealty to the king," Jon said. "Each has arranged a visit with the new king to discuss new arrangements regarding policy, and among these matters will be rebels in their territory. Lord Luthor Tyrell is to visit in three weeks' time, while Prince Doran will visit three weeks after that."
"I assume the duty of quashing resistance in the Reach and Dorne will fall to the Lord Paramounts of each region," Felix said.
"Yes," Jon returned with a nod. "But, should negotiations not proceed as planned, we will need to have a contingency prepared to face down the rebels. In the Crownlands however, we need to proceed as quickly as possible."
"Leave that task to me my lord," Varys spoke calmly. "I can handle the rebels in the Crownlands."
"May I ask how you plan on doing that?" Jon asked in response.
"It may be better that you didn't."
The Hand remained silent for a moment, thinking over Varys's response. Felix meanwhile sketched a reinforcement plan for the sails of his ship. The design was by no means perfect, but it would not take him long to complete the work. He may not have been a seafaring expert, but he understood the basics well enough to construct a ship.
Very well," Jon nodded. "Now, thanks to Tywin Lannister, much of King's Landing has been left in ruin and requires a great deal of refurbishment. The city certainly lost some of its greatness during the mad king's reign, but I think it wise to return King's Landing to its former glory."
"A noble goal," Petyr said. "How do you plan to make such drastic changes?"
Felix smirked to himself, noticing the lack of regard for Robert in Petyr's calculations. It seemed that his friend, while only having served on the council for a few days more than Felix, had noticed that Robert had little inclination to rule his kingdom himself. Perhaps it was really Jon Arryn who was in charge currently.
The thought of Robert's lack of interest in ruling did make Felix wonder if it was actually feasible to rule a kingdom by not ruling it. Could one really withdraw hands from the horse's reigns to let it run free? Would that work? Felix would need to ponder that issue further. Maybe he could even experiment with different strategies once he was Lord of Dragonstone.
"It seems relatively obvious that hmm… funds must be reallocated to… hmm… address reconstruction," Pycelle said. "The workers can hmm… handle the deeds."
"I rather hoped that we would not only be rebuilding, but improving the already existing city," Jon replied.
"Very well, yet I fail to see how that decision involves us," Varys said. "This is not a matter for the small council to attend to, especially considering our individual competencies."
"I believe you are forgetting that there is one architect among us," Petyr remarked. "What are your thoughts Felix?"
"Designing buildings is complicated," Felix returned. "Craftsmen alone do not have the necessary expertise to design buildings. That process is entirely different than physically building them."
"That's where you come in," Jon said. "From now on, we are to meet once per week in the Tower of the Hand regarding the reconstruction of the city. I am charging you with the task of leading architectural efforts in the rebuilding process."
"How much money do I have?" Felix questioned, sighing heavily. He was mildly frustrated at the extra element added into his schedule which was sure to be absolutely loaded, especially after he took charge of Dragonstone. "Buildings don't just build themselves."
"You will have whatever funds you require," Petyr assured Felix.
Felix nodded to Littlefinger in thanks while Jon Arryn looked on Petyr with an expression approaching newfound respect. He looked almost thankful that Petyr had suddenly taken an interest in his personal project, but knowing Petyr much better than the Hand of the King did, Felix could be certain that Petyr saw some sort of personal gain in the venture.
"Very well," Felix assented. "I will make time to focus on the city's reconstruction. But, I will let you know, once I take Dragonstone, I will have less time to attend to the architectural process. Also, I won't be able to meet you once per week."
"We will arrange those details at such a time as they become necessary," Jon said. "But for now, let's turn to the Targaryens. The Mad King's sister-wife and his son Viserys are both hidden away on Dragonstone as we speak. Ships from the Stormlands are approaching to handle this problem, to be commanded by Lord Felix."
"They are at least a month away as I understand," Felix commented. "It might be a while before we can muster the forces to attack Dragonstone. Plus, there's no guaranteeing that they haven't already fled to Essos."
"I very much doubt that hmm… the Targaryens would abandon their realm so quickly," Pycelle replied.
"I think the Grand Maester might be correct on this account," Varys observed. "Furthermore, my little birds have informed me that the former queen may be pregnant."
"Pregnant?" Pycelle questioned. "I witnessed no such evidence when I last saw Queen Rhaella."
"That would be former queen Pycelle," Felix corrected unhelpfully.
"Regardless," Varys interrupted. "This could mean more trouble for the king, assuming the Targaryens are able to make their escape to Essos. That would mean an heir and a spare for the Targaryen line."
"That's why it is Lord Felix's job to ensure that doesn't happen," Jon said. "Robert has given express orders that each of the Targaryen's is to be killed, no matter their age or capability to defend themselves. Every last one. Those were his words."
Each man on the council turned eyes toward the half Dornishman, looking on him with expressions approaching expectance or maybe curiosity depending on the face. Varys seemed more curious than anything, as did Petyr, but Jon looked rather adamant that Felix follow the orders of his king. Pycelle meanwhile seemed to be somewhat in a daze.
"I understand the duty King Robert has charged me with," Felix returned nonchalantly waving his quill through the air without looking up from his books.
"You can't hesitate Felix," Jon continued. "They may be children, and Rhaella may be a widow, but you must kill them."
"I already explained my understanding," Felix sighed, growing quickly bored. He wanted to be left alone to his drawings more than anything in the world.
The meeting continued thusly, each man voicing his concerns at particular matters. Even the issue of the still open council position of Master of Laws was discussed. Potential candidates were brought up, but none were settled upon given that one, there were few viable options to fill the position, and two, the councilors could not agree on which man was right for the job. Felix recused himself from that discussion, pondering on whether he could create some sort of explosive, that would function as a firing mechanism rather than an impactful force. Maybe it could be done by restricting the space in which the explosion would occur. That would launch heavy objects at unbelievable speeds, working much like his grenades.
More explosions filled Felix's mind while the others droned on incessantly about trivialities. He wasn't sure the methods of the current regime would be completely effective so long as it continued to spend money so erroneously. There had to be a way to render the cost of policy as minimal as possible, but he wasn't exactly sure how it was best to achieve that goal. Yet another matter Felix would have to ponder.
Lord Felix of House Tabor
Rightful Lord of Dragonstone and its constituent territories,
Greetings. You will be pleased to hear that King Robert Baratheon's message was quickly understood and immediate response was taken in regard to the granting of a personal fleet to the new Master of Ships – congratulations by the way. We have begun preparation to depart with roughly half the ships which currently reside at Storm's End, a total of forty ships with a surplus of men to crew them, around five hundred. Currently, it seems the fleet will depart in around two weeks' time, but we have yet to face any setbacks so far and there will certainly be multiple. Thus, it is unclear exactly when the fleet will arrive in King's Landing, but once we reach the open sea, the journey will take no longer than two more weeks.
On another point, it was only declared that I was to lead the journey to King's Landing, and that in the time following, my position was to be determined by you, as I was one of the men chosen to make up your force. I do hope we can come to some sort of understanding whereby I may remain in retention of my current position as commander of this fleet. I have worked rather hard to reach this point, and I would rather not return to the position of common deckhand. Yet, in the end, my fate is yours to determine, though I pray to the gods that you will be kind my lord.
Regards,
Mikal of Blackhaven
Temporary Commander of the First Fleet of Dragonstone
The letter was rather well written, especially considering the commoner ethos that seemed to radiate off the page. Furthermore, this Mikal had claimed that he had risen up through the ranks, stating that he 'would rather not return to the position of common deckhand,' and thus implying that he had once been nothing more than 'a common deckhand'. A noble likely would not have started military service in a grunt work position.
Felix found himself already somewhat admiring the man. Anyone who possessed ambition and a strong mind was worth his time. Mikal it seemed, had both, given his humility, his scrawly but legible penmanship, and his use of complete sentences. Obviously, someone had taken the time to teach him how to write, and Mikal had picked up the skill rather well it seemed.
Quickly, Felix penned a return letter, though his penmanship was no better than Mikal's. It was maybe a bit sharper, but it definitely had the look of a man's writing who was more concerned with the content of his words than with their appearance.
Mikhal of Blackhaven
Temporary Commander of the First Fleet of Dragonstone,
I am indeed glad to hear that King Robert's orders were received well. I will admit I expected more resistance from Lord Stannis, but if he is withholding himself, then I am all the more pleased.
I perceive you to be an observant and intelligent man based upon your writing, which surely was not a necessary skill to learn based upon your reflections of coming up through the ranks. Thus, I will present you with a challenge which should not at all be out of your capabilities to complete. If you manage to complete the journey in less than one month from the current date – I am aware you said there would be setbacks, but I am certain you can overcome those – then I will allow you to retain your current position as Commander.
Your fate is in your hands,
Lord Felix of House Tabor
Rightful Lord of Dragonstone and its constituent territories
He folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, sealing it with the sigil of House Tabor, the overlapping triangles. Glancing around the room briefly, Felix once again realized just what sort of position he held now in comparison to that which he held previously.
This room, one of a few guaranteed to members of the Small Council was quite ornate. Intricate patterns covered the window bars, the floor was inlaid with gold, and even the bed was made of pristinely carved wood curling and sprouting random branches like a bush. It was quite comfortable as well, even containing a large desk along with a three-tiered shelf for whatever amenities Felix might wish to place there, and a massive wardrobe with far more space than was necessary to contain Felix's clothes.
Most outfits he owned in fact, were nearly exactly the same. He had three jackets in varying shades of dark color – blue, black, gray, etc. – all with epaulets lining the shoulders, some in gold and some in silver. His trousers were colored similarly, along with his two pairs of boots, one set in black and one in brown.
Felix grunted as he stood, having spent far too much time before his desk pouring over papers. Mostly he had maintained focus on the function of ships, but he had attended to various administrative matters as well. Most of those were directly related to his taking the Lordship of Dragonstone, and they were tedious at best. Additionally, Felix had constructed a list, a very long list detailing the various actions he wanted to undertake before he and his men began the siege of Dragonstone. The list wasn't on paper. It was memorized, a decision made for safety, but mostly a decision made out of habit.
At a young age, Felix had realized the astounding capability of his memory, and it hadn't taken long for him to learn to take advantage of that tool. He could memorize whole chapters of books, then repeat them directly word for word after one trip through the pages. It was as if he could recall any image he were to lay eyes on effortlessly. Now, being twenty years old, Felix had abstracted that ability out into various other applications, such as his extremely vivid inner monologue. He could create and run scenarios inside his mind, only requiring basic knowledge on which to base his experiments.
Snatching the letter from the table, the wind swished behind him as he departed the room. Felix made his way toward the raven house, planning to send the message himself. He could have simply requested a servant to take the message for him, but there were not any around or available to him to do so. Plus, Felix quite liked to complete tasks himself.
It did not take long for him to reach his destination. Once again, that memory came in handy when memorizing the layout of the Red Keep. Inside, ravens were caged in every corner, some flapping and eyeing the locks like they wised to be let out, others looking quite tired. Felix selected one particularly eager looking bird and tied the note to his leg, setting him off with orders to head to Storm's End.
Briefly, he wondered how exactly maesters trained ravens to take letters around without getting lost. It seemed so impossible to him to get a bird to memorize multiple locations across the Seven Kingdoms, but somehow smart guys figured out how to make it happen.
As he turned, the light scuffing of a shoe against the floor drew his attention. Felix's eyes flicked upward as he glanced over his shoulder. There, standing unassumingly in the doorway, was the new queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei appeared radiant as always, but her expression bore a hint of apprehension contrary to her usually self-assured character. Her dress was a gentle golden color, and her hair was done up in some kind of intricate bun with a single thin braid hanging over her left shoulder. She did not hold a slip of paper in her hands, leaving her purpose for being here rather obvious.
"Are you following me?" Felix questioned as he turned to face Cersei, the cold blue eyes draining the soul right out of the room.
"That is a bold assumption to make Lord Felix," Cersei replied formally. "You forget that I am as new to the Red Keep as you are. I simply lost my way."
"Where were you going?"
"The kingsguard chambers. I wished to speak to my brother."
Felix did not speak as he quickly ran through the map of the Keep in his mind. It didn't take long for him to spot the lie. Additionally, Cersei clasped her hands tightly together, her knuckles whitening from the pressure of her grip. Beneath her dress as well, her left leg seemed to shake slightly in nervousness. This was a planned interaction on her part, and one she was concerned about for one reason or another.
"The kingsguard chambers are in the White Sword Tower, not this one," Felix said finally, still completely unmoving and unblinking.
"Ah," Cersei feigned ignorance, rather obviously in Felix's mind, but he had been told he was far far better than the average when it came to detecting mannerisms and their meanings. "My mistake."
Yet, she stayed firmly planted in the doorway, her eyes piercing equally strongly as his. There was a strength to Cersei that Felix could not help but see, just as he had seen two years ago. Then, she had been only seventeen, and while technically a woman grown, Cersei hadn't appeared nearly as such physically. Now, only a couple years later, she appeared every bit that and more. Her blonde hair was luminous, even in the small strands which were visible to Felix. He found himself wondering how it might appear were it to flow freely.
"Are you still planning on speaking to him?" Felix questioned, trying to force her to move.
"Yes," Cersei responded, remaining firm.
She blinked once, emerald eyes disappearing then reappearing in a flash. Those two orbs held such an intelligence to them, but also a fire, the fire of ambition. Very few he had ever seen possessed eyes like that. Petyr was the only one he could think of who held both glimmers. His brother held the gleam of ambition, but not intelligence, while Varys was the opposite.
"Do you know the way?" Felix probed, searching for further signs of deception.
Cersei stayed silent for a moment, her eyes finally dropping from his as she seemed to ponder over her words. The grip tightened and her breath hitched suddenly before she spoke, indicating once again that she was withholding information. Her words were crafted so as to steer Felix away from her true intentions.
"Would you show me?" Cersei asked, eyes returning to the unblinking stare of Felix.
Felix narrowed his eyes for a moment, searching for a motive. He could not ascertain the meaning of this, but they were sort of friends after all. What would it hurt to walk with her to the White Sword Tower?
"Sure," Felix agreed, stepping forward to walk with her from the room.
Cersei smirked as if she had gained some great victory on the battlefield as she turned to match his pace. Swiftly, she inserted her beneath his, locking their arms together in that strange escorting position people seemed to do regularly. Felix found it rather odd, but then again, he failed to understand many practices. She placed her other hand atop his left hand, capturing that hand in between her two quite soft palms.
As they walked, speaking little for a time, Felix became quite certain that Cersei knew exactly where she was going. They took their steps as one and navigated the halls without Felix leading the way. There was another indication of her lie before. Though, why Felix expected someone as smart as Cersei to not be able to find her way around the Keep, he wasn't completely sure.
"So I assume you had your first meeting with the Small Council today?" Cersei queried. "How was it?"
"It was… tedious," Felix spoke contemplatively as he felt Cersei's heartrate slow somewhat through her arm pressed against him. "I'm not entirely sure any of them understand how to manage money properly."
"Oh? But Petyr Baelish was named Master of Coin for his ability to manage funds."
"Yes, but he's too bothered with climbing the social ladder. I think he's trying to avoid drawing Robert's ire, or Jon Arryn's for that matter. He happily assented to their profligacy today with little resistance."
"You speak of Robert and Lord Jon's anger as if you knew it personally," Cersei observed, poignant and sharp as he remembered to be.
"I'm familiar with Robert's irritability, though he was easier to manage during the rebellion. He isn't at his most comfortable sitting on the throne, and he was testier earlier today," Felix replied.
"You made him angry?"
For a moment, Felix wondered if he should be telling Cersei all this, but he cast the thought aside. He was quite tactful enough to know which matters were to be discussed and which weren't. Furthermore, as far as he was concerned, Cersei could have some relevant insight regarding his issues.
"I questioned his decision to host a tournament in honor of your marriage," Felix said. "He didn't like me telling him what to do with his money, but it's not as if it's his money anyway."
"Did he also announce that he would be competing?" Cersei asked.
"He did actually, and he proudly proclaimed that whoever came second place would receive a cash prize. But I think I frustrated Jon Arryn as well… and Pycelle."
"Well, it sounds like your first meeting was very productive."
"Pycelle claimed that I was, 'insolent'," Felix continued. "I merely made a metaphorical statement regarding pythons, and he claimed that the use of said metaphor was incorrect. When I corrected his supposed correction – I have no idea what they teach those pompous shits in the citadel – he became rather testy."
"I can imagine," Cersei returned. "Pycelle is quite proud, but he is not particularly intelligent despite his position."
"Well, position doesn't always correlate to intellect."
Cersei laughed. The sound was almost melodic, approaching the sound he imagined a dancing firefly would make. All Felix knew was that he wanted to hear more of that.
"It certainly doesn't," Cersei said with a smirk, and she seemed to be thinking of someone in particular as she spoke.
"What did you do today?" Felix asked, trying to steer the conversation away from himself, who he hated talking about.
"Fuck all," Cersei returned with a loud groan. "It's as if I was only some bargaining piece for my father, to be sent off whenever convenient. Now I can't do anything except plot inside my mind, but it isn't like I have any actual power to enact those plots."
"It is almost like you were a pawn to be played," Felix said sarcastically.
He found that particular treatment to be quite distasteful, but it wasn't as if he was in a position to do anything about that. Though, it did remind him of a rather unpleasant thought. Being a lord and all meant he had to marry and have children to serve as his heirs if he wanted his legacy to remain in control of Dragonstone. He quickly pushed that thought away.
"I just…" Cersei sighed as they exited the Keep into the large courtyard. She trailed off, unable to speak, her eyes glancing around the space quickly.
Above their heads, the sun slowly set, just approaching the point where it would disappear below the horizon. It cast fire across the sky, and in combination with the scents of various colorful flowers, Felix was struck by the scene. It was odd, as he had never been one to be struck dumb by pretty sights, but standing next to Cersei, the world's beauty was brought to the fore.
"Let's take a walk around the garden first shall we?" Cersei asked, her mind seeming as far away as his own was.
Felix nodded his agreement, and together the two set off weaving amongst the shrubbery. The colors stood out starkly in the low orange light, almost leaping off the plants and dancing before his eyes.
Cersei's breath was soft beside him, and her presence brough Felix a feeling of unmatched peace. When compared to his usual waking moments of constant mental energy, this was so soft, so serene and simple. Her steps were shorter than his, thanks to the near foot he held over her in height, causing Felix to dramatically slow his pace. Usually, he would be bothered by the speed at which they currently moved, but in this moment, it seemed only right that they would walk slowly.
Cersei guided him gently toward a pavilion at the edge of the garden overlooking Blackwater Bay. Though the sun was invisible behind the structure of the Keep, its orange light radiated around them, casting Cersei's blonde hair into a golden halo surrounding her face. She almost took his breath away.
Sitting a small table under the pavilion, they looked out over the water together, watching the gentle waves slowly ripple across the endless expanse of dark blue. Cersei perched at the edge of her chair, so poised an elegant that Felix wondered whether it was possible for anyone to sit like that save her. He felt slovenly by contrast.
"Can I be candid?" Cersei asked hesitantly, a dramatic change from the confidence she displayed previously.
"That would be a welcome change," Felix quipped in return.
Cersei's gaze whipped around to his with mild shock, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face.
"Don't look so surprised," Felix joked. "You did bring me here on false pretenses after all."
"What false pretenses?" Cersei questioned.
"You were looking for Jaime, remember?"
Cersei remained silent for a moment, eyeing Felix like one might eye a misbehaving dog stepping out of its place.
"It was a simple deduction really," Felix said. "The clenching of your hands when you entered the raven house, the shaking of the leg, the elevated heartrate once we started walking, the carefully crafted questions you posed to me, it was all prepared. Obvious really."
"How?" Cersei asked, stuttering. "How did-"
"I just told you. I watched, and you told me everything."
"But you went along anyway."
"We haven't spoken in over two years Cersei," Felix said. "I missed your company."
Cersei's jaw lowered ever so slightly, then morphed into a wide and genuine smile. Felix found himself greatly enjoying that look on her face. It was so real, and so happy.
"I thought you had forgotten," Cersei said softly.
"How could I?" Felix asked. "You were the first friend I ever made that was my own age."
Cersei laughed, the melody once again falling from her lips like dripping wine. It was the only circumstance where Felix could imagine he would actually enjoy wine.
"I- well, I was going to say that I missed your company as well," Cersei said. "And I only asked you to show me to the White Sword Tower so I could speak to you. I needed a friend."
She appeared almost sad then as she stared off into the rapidly darkening Blackwater Bay. Her expression was pensive, but behind those emerald eyes there was a raging storm of emotions. Felix had never been particularly good at analyzing emotions beyond their obvious impact on the behavior of a person, but he took in a deep breath, preparing to give it a shot.
"What's wrong?" Felix asked, trying to sound as caring as possible, though he felt certain that he failed miserably.
"I just," Cersei stumbled over her words again, her emotions penetrating through into her rational mind. "I just feel so alone. Jaime is here, and so are my father and brother – though I would hardly call him good company – but I feel so alone. All I ever wanted was to be queen. It's all I ever wanted, and now I am, and it's… I don't even know."
Felix pondered over her words for a moment, dissecting them and considering them from multiple angles. Why would she feel alone? She had her family with her, at least for now. She had hundreds of servants at her beck and call, so why would she feel alone? That was a rather odd thing to say.
"It's pathetic," Cersei stated defeatedly. "I know."
Pathetic? Now, Felix was even more confused. He didn't have any clue what she was saying at all. Her feeling of loneliness was pathetic – according to her at least – but where did that loneliness even come from?
Was it related to her becoming queen? Or…
It was. The pieces finally clicked into Felix's emotionally stunted mind. He reached out his hand for one of hers, grasping it gently but firmly in his much larger palm.
"You're not pathetic," Felix said certainly.
Cersei sniffled slightly, almost like she had been crying. Then, as she looked up, Felix could see that she had indeed been holding back tears. Her eyes glistened wetly, and her face reddened slightly.
"Adapting to a new life is hard," Felix spoke slowly, carefully thinking over each word that exited his mouth. "Your life changed dramatically just a day ago. You were part of one family, and – though you still are kind of – now you're part of a new one. Your father gave you away, and you feel like you're lost without the rest of your family. It's not pathetic to feel alone under those circumstances."
Cersei clenched her eyes tightly shut, trying to hide her pain from Felix, but her attempts only made it more obvious. A slow tear dribbled down her cheek, splashing against her dress.
"You've lived that way your whole life, but you don't cry about it," Cersei croaked.
Felix started internally. He hadn't really considered in his life that way before. His existence was all that mattered, and his ambition came as a result of said existence. The environment around him had never been relevant.
But she was right. Felix had lived his whole life as an outcast of his own family, his own blood. Was he lonely?
"There is more than one way to cope with… ailments," Felix said awkwardly, trying to be comforting.
"Ailments?" Cersei questioned as she chuckled to herself haltingly, still fighting off her tears "Really?"
"I couldn't think of any other word."
"You're an idiot," Cersei stated with a disbelieving shake of her head. "A giant muscle bound, genius, idiot."
Felix chuckled to himself as his eyes returned to the now darkened bay. The sun had set, and they hadn't even seen it because they'd been too busy feeling their feelings, or Cersei had been, and Felix had been questioning what feelings were and why he didn't feel them.
"Do you mind staying a bit longer?" Cersei asked, still recovering from her internal ordeal.
"Won't Robert… ah, that would be counterproductive, wouldn't it?" Felix mumbled to himself pedantically.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Cersei questioned with slightly exasperated sigh.
"That's a yes," Felix said.
Cersei stared out into the pure black as stars just began to poke out of the night sky. She slowly leaned her head up against Felix's shoulder as they held hands.
"Thank you," she whispered, sighing deeply.
Felix knew not what exactly to think in that moment, but passing through his mind, he did hope no one would walk by to see the queen in intimate proximity to any man who wasn't the king. That would be a rather unfortunate misunderstanding.
Thanks for reading friends.
-Red