Robynhood13 - Well I can't write everyone to be awesome and appealing, where's the fun in that. But the worst ever, really? Worse than Ramsay and Joffrey? Didn't think I'd gone that far.


"...lastly, King Joffrey and the Queen regent must renounce all claims to dominion over the north. Henceforth we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom, as of old. Our domain shall include all the Stark lands north of the Neck, and in addition the lands watered by the River Trident and its vassal streams, bounded by the Golden Tooth to the west and the mountains of the Moons…Lord Tywin must withdraw beyond these boards and cease his raiding, burning, and pillage. The Queen Regent and her son shall make no claims to taxes, incomes, nor service from my people, and shall free my lords and knights from all oaths of fealty, vows, pledges, debts, and obligations owned to the Iron Throne and the Houses Baratheon and Lannister."

Loren didn't even bother reading about the hostages that Robb Stark demanded from his family as signs of good behaviour, and simply put the scroll down.

"Of course, Cersei will never accept these," he muttered. "I shall draw up a list of demands that will make Robb Stark want to drag out these talks long enough, that will give our uncle Stafford time to train up his fresh host at Casterly Rock." He turned back to his weasely cousin Cleos Frey. "What can you tell me of Robb Stark, cousin," any information he could glean might be useful.

"The boy sits idle at Riverrun…I think he fears to face your father in the field. His strength grows less each day. The river lords have departed, each to defend his own lands," Cleos told them.

Loren nodded. "Good," he said. The longer the boy waited, the more the odds shifted in the favour of the Lannisters. "If he is sending peace terms, perhaps it is peace he desires, that is time for us." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Go now and rest, Ser Cleos," he said. "I will send for you when I have drawn up our response to the Starks."

When he was alone again, he leant back in his chair. He couldn't be dealing with a council meeting for every issue that came to them. What did Varys, Littlefinger, Pycelle, Cersei or Tyrion know of war, anyhow? This was a matter he could handle alone. Cersei would likely voice her anger at not being included in the decisions, but he could bare that, and she wouldn't complain about his response.

Then a knock at the door made him look up. "Enter."

It was Ser Gerold who entered. "My Lord," he said, bowing. "Your sister commands that you come to her solar immediately."

He sighed. "Very well," he said. "Send in Vylarr." The Lannister Captain knew whom he served, Loren was before Cersei and Tyrion in line to Casterly Rock.

"Are you sure you don't wish to go now, my lord," he asked. "Your sister was most insistent that you come immediately."

"If she was so desperate to see me she should have come herself," he replied. "Send in Vylarr."

If his sister was calling on him, it was likely to complain, one way or another. He would have something to counter with.

Vylarr entered and bowed, his helmet under his arm. "My lord," he said. "How can I serve you?"

"My sister," he said, lacing his fingers together before his face. "Your men are reporting to you, are they not?"

Vylarr nodded. "They are," he said.

"Then tell me, where has she been going and what has she been doing recently?" He made a point to check in with Vylarr regularly, but he needed the information now.

"My Lord, she has been meeting with members of the Alchemist's guild these last few days."

"Alchemists?" Loren asked. "For what purpose?"

"She has been discussing the production of Wildfire, my lord," he said, and Loren cursed. How did Cersei expect him to defend this city if she didn't give him all the tools? Unless she was calling this meeting to tell him about it, he would have words with her.

"Shit Cersei, your megalomania will be the death of us all," he muttered. "Is there anything else?"

"I have just come from the Throne Room," Vylarr said. "Her Grace... the Queen Regent... she has announced that the Lannisters will trade the Stark daughters, both of them, for Ser Jaime."

"Cersei!" He yelled, getting up so fast his chair toppled over backwards. "Take me to her, now!" He said.

Six men fell in as an escort beside him as he marched through the keep towards Cersei's solar. When there he waved aside the Lannister men and slammed the door open. Cersei was sitting at her table, a cup of wine in her hand, drinking deeply. She looked at him slowly. "Brother," she said, clearly angry at having to wait even a little while. "You've come."

She didn't have time to wait react as he smashed the cup from her hand, the red liquid splashing along the floor like blood from a freshly slit throat. "Why?" He demanded, clenching his fist. How he wanted to sink it into her face, breaking that pretty nose of hers would be glorious.

"We need Jaime," she said simply, licking the wine from the back of her hand like a kitten. "And unlike you, I am willing to do whatever it takes, even if that means lie and cheat, to get him back."

"Jaime lost," he hissed. "Be thankful that Stark doesn't seem to be willing to give him up. Or you could have damaged this court for all to see."

"I am the Queen Regent," she said, slamming her cup down on the table. "You are the Hand of the King, you do not command me. I made the pronouncement in the throne room that you were unwilling to."

He shook his head at her. "Perhaps. Tell me, was your exotic, carved wooden chair comfortable?" He asked and saw her bristle. "You are the Regent, Cersei, but I am the Hand and your son is King. Only the Hand of the King and the King himself may sit the Iron Throne. Tell me, did you like the way the Iron Throne stared at the back of your neck? Did you like the way the whole court was looking to see who sat there, rather than seeing you as the Queen Regent. I know that's what you really want. But you can't have it, and you never will."

"Silence!" She shrieked, anger in every inch of her face. "I will not be spoken to like that."

"And then you seek to undermine my strategy," he said. "When did you plan to tell me about the Wildfire?"

Her eyes momentarily widened. Someone else might have missed it, but she was his sister and he could read that face of hers with some ease. "How did you-?"

"You think I have been idle, Cersei?" He asked her. "By not telling me of key pieces of information, you are a threat, and while threats walk this city, my eyes shall watch them." Or at least they would, when he could find a way of getting men closer to Littlefinger and Varys.

"What about you?" Cersei demanded of him. "When were you planning on telling me of your planned negotiations with the Dornish and Arryns, or the Tyroshi?"

That momentarily took him aback. Those negotiations had borne no fruit of yet, he had not expected her to think so much of them. "When they came to anything," he said. He would make sure to give the Grand Maester guards from now on. He was the only one to whom he had given those sealed letters. His men would ensure no harm came to Pycelle, unless he snuck any more messages to his sister. "We cannot win the war alone Cersei," he said. "The Starks, Tullys, Baratheons and Tyrells all march against us, and we have lost one host to this war already. We must have allies, and we have some chips to offer them." The Arryns and Martells could offer them soldiers to bolster their ranks, which they currently needed. However the Tyroshi could provide them a fleet with which to battle Stannis Baratheon. In truth he hoped such an alliance wouldn't come at the cost of Myrcella, allowing them to sack the Islands of the Narrow Sea for their wealth and depart should be sufficient, but the option remained available.

"Chips," she said, suddenly alarmed. "You don"t mean... not Myrcella, no!"

"She is a Princess, Cersei," he reminded her. "It is her duty, she was born to be married off."

"No," Cersei declared. "You will not sell her off, not to the Martells, or the Arryns, and certainly not the Tyroshi." She looked him up and down. "You have daughters," she snarled. "Three of them, why not offer them."

"Because offering a man silver when he knows you have gold is not the best way to an alliance," Loren explained. Martell, Arryn, they wanted a princess, not a noble lady. Cersei always wanted to be the Queen but she was never ready to accept the price. He would make her.

"Then you had best hope my negotiations with the Martells come to fruition," he said to her.

"The Martells loathe us, they will kill her the minute she sets foot in Dorne. Not that she ever will."

Loren shook his head. Once more his sister was acting on her own assumptions instead of securing all the facts first. "The Dornish want a princess, this is true, but not ours. They want custody of Daenerys Targaryen."

"They-" She said, surprised. Then a smile spread across her face. "Yes," she said. "Yes, get that girl out of my city."

"No," he said. "It is the King's City, and the minute she arrives in Dorne, the Dornish will raise their banners for her as the last Targaryen. We must keep her close." Of course, he may have to offer Myrcella if they wouldn't accept other offers. But Cersei didn't need to know that for now. "Besides, Stannis Baratheon's fleet has the gullet closed," he said. "We have no way of delivering her to Dorne right now, as I have said to Prince Doran." Still, at least he might be able to keep the Dornish from joining Renly, not that it was likely. Emnity between Sunspear and Highgarden and Storm's End predated the Iron Throne itself.

There was a knocking at the door. "My lord, Your Grace," he recognised the voice of Ser Gerold. "Forgive me for interrupting, but there is something for you to see."

"Come in," he said and the knight entered with what looked to be a raven's missive. He held out his hand and Gerold passed him the letter before bowing and leaving the siblings to their discussion.

He read the message. Then he read it again. He read it a third time just to be sure. Then he laughed. He laughed so hard he felt his sides begin to split. Despite everything, despite two great defeats, despite Jaime being captured and despite being surrounded by foes on all sides, fate, it seemed, held a little sympathy for them. "What is it?" Cersei demanded.

"Pour me some of that wine," he said, looking up at her with a large smile on his face.

"Why?" She asked, less demanding this time. "What has happened?"

He flashed the letter to her. He could afford to tease her a little. "Stannis Baratheon's host has sailed from Dragonstone."

"What!" She cried. "You shouldn't be laughing, you should be calling the men to their stations, you should-"

"Sh sh sh," he said, taking her wrists gently to calm her down. "Stannis Baratheon has sailed," he repeated, holding up the letter for her to read. "And his host is now encamped beneath the walls of Storm's End."

Cersei blinked, then laughed herself. It was not a high, hysterical laugh, but a laugh of pure joy. "Guards!" He called, and two of them entered the room, confused at what was happening. "Bring Tyrion here, he needs to hear this."

"Yes," Cersei said, alarming him, he thought she might object. "Go and fetch our brother, bring him here to us at once!" Then, surprising probably everyone, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. He hugged her back in thanks. She brought him a cup of wine.

"Renly cannot let this go unchallenged," Loren said. "He will forsake his march to battle his brother!"

"To Renly Baratheon!" Cersei toasted, raising her cup.

He tapped it with his own, making the deep red liquid slosh joyously in its cup. "To Stannis Baratheon as well, let us give both brothers their due."

Tyrion found them together and looked bewildered. "What is happening, dear siblings?" He asked.

"We are toasting Stannis and Renly," Cersei explained through fits of laughter. Loren just indicated the missive on the table. By the time Tyrion had read it, his ugly face slipping into an image of mirth, Loren had already poured him a cup of his own and was holding it out to him.

Tyrion joined them and, for a while, the war was forgotten, old grudges buried as three children of Tywin Lannister celebrated their good fortune. "Still," he said as their celebrations died down. "We must move to take advantage of this. Gerold!" He called. His knight entered the room.

"My Lord," he bowed. "Remind me, did you ever recruit any archers to join my guard?"

"I did, My Lord," he replied.

Loren nodded. "Bring me the very best of them, if they can't hit five with five arrows, I'm not interested. Those who can, tell them I have a task that could net them a King's ransom."

Gerold nodded and left to find his archers.

"What are you planning?" Tyrion asked. "Should we not simply let this conflict burn between the brothers?"

"We could," Loren admitted. "But I see this as a chance. Since sending out his claim, Stannis Baratheon has been ringed by sea and steel. Renly has marched with a hundred thousand shields between him and a foe. He is likely to move quickly, which means a smaller host, so as to catch his brother as soon as possible. Renly and Stannis may be as alike as you and Jaime, Tyrion, but they are still brothers. They will parley. Both Baratheon brothers will be together. We can have them both killed."

"That could be dangerous," Tyrion said. "If they know it was us, they could unite. Stannis Baratheon has a son, and Renly Baratheon would have a widow."

"Lyonel Baratheon would never marry Margaery Tyrell," Cersei dismissed. "Stannis likely regards Renly as the greatest traitor of all."

"And all those who follow him in the same light," Loren finished, earning a rare smile from Cersei. "The Tyrells know this as well. An offer of pardons, and they will likely return to the fold, go home and harvest their food. That will leave a Baratheon boy with no army and Robb Stark alone to face us."

"Do it," Cersei lightly commanded him. "kill them both."

"Gladly."