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I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.
First of all, let me apologize. Between vacation, work, a case of food poisoning, and Infinity War it's been a while since I've sat down with this story. (Didn't write while on vacation and at work, was a bit preoccupied and curled around the toilet when the food poisoning was a thing, and after Infinity War for a while the only thing I was motivated to write was Avengers related stories.
BUT ... your reviews broke through. (See they do matter!) And here I am with an update!
I hope it's a good one.
Chapter Seventy-Eight: Ashes
Jon
She was covered in blood. The dark fabric of her dress had hid it well enough from far away when she had walked into the great hall, her eyes distant and faraway, but now that he was closer to her he could see it. There was some on her pale neck, and more on her hands, hidden in the folds of her skirt.
Before anyone noticed he took off his own cloak and dropped it on her shoulders, covering both the blood staining her neck and the her hands. "What have you done, Nora?" he whispered to her, leaning closer to her so that she could hear him. No one in the hall was looking at them yet, but they would soon. "Nora?" he whispered again, louder when she did not answer straight away.
She turned to him then, her grey eyes darting over his face, seeing him for the first time since she had entered the hall. He nodded, encouraging her. "There you are," he whispered, reaching out for her hand.
The blood on her skin had cooled, congealed and sticky. He wanted to draw his hand away, but worried that it might have an adverse affect on the girl beside him, the one that he was still desperately trying to reach. He had finally gotten her to look at him, he couldn't lose that now by drawing away. He glanced down at the blood on her hand, "Whose blood is this?" he asked her in an urgent whisper. "Nora? Whose blood?"
She glanced down too, her eyes widening at the sight of the blood on her hand as if surprised. "His," she whispered her answer, her gaze lifting back to his face. "It's his."
"Whose?" Jon pressed, his own gaze darting around the hall, looking for anyone that could have been missing. Most of his advisors were in the room. He could not think of anyone in the keep that Lenora had a bad relationship with, no one that she would want to kill.
"Littlefinger's," she whispered back, her voice quietly imploring him to understand what she had done though with so little to go on he could barely guess. "Lord Baelish," she specified when he did not respond right away. Her grey eyes locked on his face, "I killed him."
This time he did let go of her hand, not to pull away from her, but to wrap it around her wrist. He needed to get her out of the hall before anyone looked over into the dark corner that Littlefinger liked to stand in, spying, and noticed that the was not there. He didn't say anything, sure that he did not need to, as he began to pull her through the hall, toward the doors and out into the courtyard. They would cross quickly to the great keep so that he could bring her to her chambers. "Where is he?" he asked quietly as they walked. "Where did you leave him?"
"He's near the stables," she told him, nodding toward the wall that separated this courtyard from the one outside the stables and the kennels. Jon's gaze drifted that way too, thankful for the wall that separated them from the what he could only assume was Littlefinger's corpse by the amount of blood that covered his sister's skin and dress. "I was going to see Casterly when he approached me," she explained to him, unbidden.
"No more," Jon ordered her, his voice quiet and hard. Though they had not been approached, there were others in the courtyard, he did not want Lenora to be overheard before he could make sense of the situation, before he could come up with a defense. "Not until we are in your chambers."
It did not take them long to get to them. They were Sansa's old chambers since his red-headed sister had moved into Ned and Catelyn's chambers when they returned to Winterfell. He had meant to give her Robb's old chambers, thinking it would be a comfort to her until he learned that Ramsay had given them to her when she had arrived at the castle with him. It was there that the monster had taken her on the sham of their wedding night, there that he meant to rape her. She had quietly refused the chambers and once Jon understood he had sought out Sansa to see if she would be alright with Lenora staying in her old rooms.
He ushered her into the room and gently pushed her onto the bed as he moved toward the windows to close the casements. He heard a scream from a kitchenmaid from the courtyard. He could assume that someone had found the body, they would be looking for him soon.
He turned and moved toward the fireplace, there was a pot of water boiling on it, preparation for an evening bath. It would be scalding, but better than cold water. He lifted the pot and brought it across the room, setting it on the floor by the bed and grabbing a sheet before he settled on his knees in front of the quiet girl and held out his hand, silently asking her to give him one of her own.
She did not even wince when the too hot water came in contact with her skin. It was as if she did not even feel it. He wondered, thinking back on the time he had spent with her since she arrived at Castle Black, if he had seen anything hurt her physically. He knew that emotionally she could be hurt, had seen something in her break when Ramsay killed Theon. He had seen her shatter when she saw what he had done to Rickon.
But she had run headfirst into battle with no fear of death. She had come out of the battle bruised and cut and bleeding and had not even blinked. She walked out in the snow filled courtyard without even a summer cloak, the cold did not seem to bother her, neither did the scalding hot water he was using to clean the blood from her hands. What had Ramsay done to her?
But the pressing question at the moment was what she had done to Littlefinger. He hated himself for asking, but he needed the answer.
"You'll never get it off," she told him in a strange, empty voice. "The blood, you'll never get it off."
It was coming off her hand easily enough, staining the sheet and turning the water in the pot pink as he rang the sheet out in it. But when he glanced up at Lenora she was staring down at her hand with wide eyes, as if she could still see the blood. "I killed him," she told him. Her voice was hollow, though he sensed very little remorse in her statement. "And I will carry that with me forever."
"You've killed men before," Jon answered, a poor comfort as he moved on to the other hand.
"But not like this," she countered. "I've killed men in battle, men that meant to kill me. But Littlefinger was unarmed."
"Why?" Jon asked, glancing up. He was still washing the blood from her hands, even though he was not looking down at her hands. Someone would have seen them leave the hall together, someone would come looking for him soon to inform him of Littlefinger's murder. Lenora would need to be cleaned up by then.
"Because this is all his fault," she whispered, her grey eyes locking on his and refusing to let go. "And the Lannisters'. And Lady Stark's. But it all began with him."
"How do you know that?" Jon asked, his voice quiet as he moved up toward her neck, gently cleaning the blood that stained her skin there.
"The knife that was used in an attempt on Bran's life after you all left?" Lenora asked, ensuring that he remembered it. Jon nodded silently, he remembered Robb's raven about the knife. "It did once belong to my uncle Tyrion, just as Littlefinger told Lady Catelyn, but Tyrion lost it in a bet to Littlefinger. It was his dagger."
"Why did he lie then?" Jon asked as he moved away from her. He glanced at the sheet in his hand, it was stained red with Littlefinger's blood. There would be no way to hide it, it would need to be burned.
"To perpetuate the fight between the Starks and the Lannisters," Lenora told him as if it were obvious, and he supposed perhaps that it was. "One we were all only too happy to continue because it is the only thing we've ever known. All so stubborn in their own prejudice to realize that they were being used as puppets by a man who has been grasping at power his entire life."
Jon bristled at her statement, misliking the way it painted his family. "Your uncle -" he started.
"Threw Bran from a tower when the boy heard him and my mother talking about how my youngest siblings are bastards," Lenora interrupted him, not shying away from the ugly truth of it. "But both he and my mother were only too happy to leave it there, with him asleep in his bed, most like to never wake up. It was Littlefinger's dagger that nearly killed him and sent Lady Catelyn south where Littlefinger told her a story about it belonging to my uncle and made your father suspicious. Lady Catelyn kidnapped both of my uncles, my mother and brother had your father killed, and mine too most like, and Robb married me in a political move rather than one of love. This entire war, all the blood, all the death, all the suffering because it served that man's best interests to have us at war with each other rather than peace."
Something in her had changed as she explained it all to him. She was no longer sitting meekly on the bed in front of him, whispering. She was standing, strong and sure of herself, and more like the girl he had first met than she had been since the battle. She did not think herself wrong for killing Littlefinger, and to be honest, neither did he. But he wished that she had not made such a mess of it.
He shook his head, "Why did you not come to me with all of this?" he asked her. "Whatever monster he is, the Knights of the Vale no doubt would require a trial. You cannot be judge and executioner, Nora."
She watched him, her eyes liquid silver, swimming behind tears that she would not allow to fall down her cheeks. "I was too gentle with Ramsay," she explained to him quietly. "Grey Wind was too quick. After what he had done to Rickon -" her voice dropped off as she shook her head. "He deserved so much more."
"And you've taken it upon yourself to deal out justice as you see fit?" he asked her, his tone a bit more biting than he meant it to be.
She did not flinch away from his anger. She did not ask his forgiveness. She glanced at him, squaring her shoulders. "If no one else will do it, then it is my job," she told him quietly. "However unpleasant it is." She reached out for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, for a moment a flash of the old Lenora, "This war has done nothing but take things from us, Jon," she told him. "It's time that we start taking back."
"You didn't have to do it alone, Nora," Jon told her, finally getting to the root of it all. He was not angry at her for what she did to Littlefinger, he did not doubt what she said. He was angry because she had felt that she needed to do it alone. It was his duty to protect her now, and every time he turned around, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to make that impossible for him to do.
Lenora shook her head, "You are the Lord of Winterfell, Jon," she told him. He shook his head, denying the title, but she continued to speak. "Your first act did not need to be that." She turned away from him, "The dress will need to be burned too," she told him, changing the subject as she gestured toward the laces of her dress, her voice cold and distant.
Jon sighed as he lifted his hands to unlace the dress. "What will I tell the Knights of the Vale?" he asked her.
"You'll tell them that Littlefinger betrayed them long ago," a voice rang out from the doorway, surprising both of them. Jon turned in surprise, Sansa was standing there, watching them. She smiled at him as she moved further into the room. "You will bring me to be a witness and I will tell them how he pushed my Aunt Lysa out of the moon door and threatened my life until I agreed to lie for him. I will tell them how he meant to rule through Robin, to take advantage of the boy. I will tell them how the only reason he brought them here to fight Ramsay was because I threatened to come clean about Aunt Lysa. And then we will say that we do not know how he died, but we are not surprised by it. The man has betrayed so many people, many of them in this very keep. And no one will miss him."
She gently pushed his hands away from Lenora's laces. "I'll take it from here, Jon," she told him. "You are needed in the courtyard. The bannermen will be arriving soon," she told him, "it is best that this is taken care of before they arrive."
He should have said something or done something to take control of the situation, but these two women, who were so much stronger than any of the men in their lives had ever given them credit for, seemed to have it handled. Lenora was already named queen in her own right, and he was certain that soon Sansa would be named the Lady of Winterfell. And together, they seemed to be a force to be reckoned with.
Unbidden, he moved toward them quickly, pressing a kiss against both of their foreheads. "Neither of you have ever needed a man, have you?" he asked them.
The two girls glanced at each other, sharing a silent smile.
One, he realized, that they had both learned from the Lannister queen.
-.-.-.-.-
Jaime
The mess with Littlefinger's death had cleaned up nicely, much nicer than Jaime thought it had any right to do given the amount of blood that had spilled from the man's throat. He did not blame whoever slit it open and rid them of the man who had never been anything more than a thorn in his side, but he was envious of how easy it was for them. When had anything ever been that easy for him?
He had killed the Mad King, a man who was as much of a danger to the Seven Kingdoms, if not more than, as Littlefinger and all he had known was distrust, anger and disdain. But this anonymous person, they would be hailed as a savior, a protector of the realm. A saint.
The Knights of the Vale had barely blinked when they learned their lord was dead. They had not demanded justice nor investigation, they did not blame Jon Snow for not protecting the man living under his roof. All they had required was Sansa Stark's testimony. And they had eaten that up.
She had cried prettily enough, the girl, large wet tears sliding down her cheeks as she gasped and whispered her way through a confession. She told them how she had witnessed Littlefinger push Lysa Arryn through the moon door after she had caught him kissing Sansa. She told them that he threatened to kill her if she told the truth, that he meant to marry her and somehow put her on the throne. She promised that was why she had run away from the Vale so soon after her aunt's death. She told them that the only reason Littlefinger had brought them to Winterfell to fight the Bolton's was because she had sent him a raven, threatening to tell the truth if he did not assist them. She showed them the very message she had sent.
And they believed every word, many of them barely waiting until she had finished her tale to start testifying that they had never trusted the man, that they had misliked him as well, that something about the story of Lysa Arryn's death had never sat right with them. And if it weren't for the quick, momentary victorious smile that Sansa had sent Jon at the end, Jaime might have believed it too.
But far be it for him to put an end to such an interesting performance, why it almost rivaled one of his sister's. He wondered if it had been from Cersei that Sansa learned her large tears, and the weak quiver to her voice that had all the men in the hall wanting to protect her.
He did not begrudge her any of it. Littlefinger would have needed to be dealt with one day, sooner rather than later, the man was a sickness on the capitol, one no one dared address because he knew too many secrets. He supposed hat he should thank Jon Snow, for doing the dirty work that Jaime had long ago resigned to.
Now would be the time to do it, while they were alone in Lenora's chambers. She had sent for both of them, told both of them that she needed to see them at their earliest convenience. Jaime did not think that she had ever intended for them both to arrive at her chamber door at the same time, but when she opened the door and saw them both she did not seem surprised.
Neither was Jaime to be honest, he was the captain of her Queensguard, but before that he was her uncle, her family, one of the few protectors she had left. Of course he would drop everything to go to her when she called. And Jon Snow? In the short time Jaime had spent with the man it had become clear that he felt that it was his responsibility to look after his dead brother's wife. He cared for her just as he did for the Stark girls, watched over her just as fiercely, came when called upon just as quickly.
She had let them both in and walked toward one of the windows, standing with her back turned to them for a long time before she spoke. When she did, she kept her gaze trained on the courtyard below the window. "Jon," she said, slow and soft. "There's something you should know before the bannermen arrive." She turned slightly, just barely making eye contact with the man over her shoulder before her grey eyes fell to the window again. "I was with child while Robb and I were on the march," she told them, surprising Jon. "I lost the baby."
Jon moved forward, reaching out to her, prepared to apologize to her for yet another loss she had suffered because of the war their families started. Lenora silenced him before he spoke by lifting one of her pale hands off the window sill and holding it in the air above her shoulder. "Robb and I were soon faced with the possibility that he might die without an heir, without one that your stubborn Northmen would recognize." She glanced over her shoulder now, shooting a pointed look at Jon. "We can't expect them all to be as open minded as the men of Bear Island, after all," she told him.
It was with that one statement that Jaime understood what she was telling Jon. She had called them his Northmen. Robb had needed an heir and many of the Northmen would have been less than pleased to follow Sansa or Arya, even if they had been found by then. Jon did not seem to understand, his brow furrowed as he continued to watch Lenora, waiting for him to explain.
Jaime bit back a smirk as Lenora sighed, "He named you his heir, Jon," she told him quietly. "He legitimized you, named you Stark and made you his heir."
Jon shook his head, "But only -" he started, pausing when his thoughts caught up to his tongue.
"Only a king can legitimize a bastard," Lenora continued for him. "And Robb was a king." She finally moved away from the window to move closer to Jon, "I have no proof," she told him, reaching out for his hand as if to apologize, "I had the document once, but Ramsay burned it. All I have is my word, but they will listen to it."
"How can you be so certain, Len?" Jaime asked, speaking up for the first time since the conversation had begun. "You thought they would rise to help us fight the Boltons and only House Hornwood and House Mormont rose. How can you be certain that the other Northern Houses will listen this time?"
She glanced up at him, a bitter smile playing at the corners of her lips, "Because they have now abandoned their queen twice. Once at the Twins, and again when I asked for help. The Northerners pride themselves on their honor and in the last year, I have seen very little of it. I will remind them of that before I tell them that Jon was named Robb's legitimate heir during the War of the Five Kings."
"And you think that will work?" Jaime asked, testing his niece. "I believe reminding them will do little more than anger them."
"Good," Lenora told him with a nod. "I want them angry. Because the only reason for their anger will be their own shame. And they should be ashamed. That shame will drive them. They will listen this time, they will follow, and they will name Jon the King in the North."
That caught both men's attention. Jon turned toward Lenora, his brows furrowed as he watched her. "You mean to have me named King in the North?" he asked her, watching her carefully. After a moment he shook his head, "Nora, surely you don't understand -"
"I understand perfectly," Lenora snapped, interrupting him. "I understand that under Robb the North declared itself independent and free from Southern rule. I understand that even Bolton's treachery and secret agreement with my grandfather did not change that. The North has tasted freedom for the first time in centuries and they will not go back now, especially under and Lannister King ruled by his own Lannister mother."
"But you," Jon argued, shaking his head. "Your men have named you Queen." He shook his head. "I am not blind, Nora, I know you mean to head south and confront your mother and your brother. It would be easier to do with the North behind you."
Lenora shook her head, "The North is tired of fighting," she told him. "Can't you see that? You think they will follow me south and fight with me when they learn that I mean to give them the North without a single battle?"
Jon shook his head, "Don't tell them then," he told her. He paused, and then, "Aren't you tired of fighting, Nora?"
She nodded, "I'm exhausted," she told them both honestly. "But what else can I do?"
Jon watched her carefully, his dark eyes scanning over her face, "Stay here," he urged her. "With me and Arya and Sansa. Stay here and be the Queen in the North, like you always were supposed to. Stay and rule, help me, help us."
Jaime watched the boy carefully, the offer surprised him, but the more he thought, the more he liked it. The Northmen, for all their faults, had loved and respected his niece when she was their queen, they could love her again. She could stay and be safe and she would not have to travel south and confront her mother and whatever army Cersei was able to command. "She won't agree to be your wife," he warned the boy, speaking the words his niece was no doubt trying to find.
Jon smiled, a rueful twist of his lips, "I never intended to ask," he told both of them, his dark gaze never leaving Lenora's face as she thought over his offer. "Nora has had enough marriages, and only one that she wanted. I would not presume to offer her another unwanted marriage. She would rule by my side, Queen but not wife."
"And you would never marry?" Jaime asked, lifting an eyebrow. He liked the idea more and more, but he worried about Lenora's future. If Jon were to marry it would be expected that his wife would supplant Lenora as queen. And then where would she be?
Jon shrugged his shoulders, "The Night's Watch don't marry," he answered simply.
"But you are no longer Night's Watch," Jaime argued, testing him.
Jon shook his head, "I am not," he agreed. "But neither do I intend to marry again. Lenora will live and die as Queen in the North."
Jaime turned to look at Lenora, waiting for her to answer, he knew what he wanted for her, but as he took in her face, the stubborn set to her jaw as she chewed on her bottom lip he knew that she had a different answer for Jon's offer. She shook her head, "I thank you, Jon," she told him, reaching out to place her hand on top of his. "I know that your offer is because of Robb, because of the love you had for him and in turn for the love he had for me. I know that you mean to protect me, but I cannot agree to this."
Jon shook his head, "You can," he urged her.
She shook her head as well, her gaze lifting toward Jaime, a silent hint that what she said next was as much for her uncle as it was for the dark haired man in front of her. "I cannot," she told him again. "There was a time when I was happy to be named Queen in the North, when Robb was alive and we were happy, but now?" She shook her head. "I cannot keep that name, that place without him. I know you mean well, but it will only serve to remind me of everything I have lost. I will not be a Northern Queen without my Northern King."
Jon watched her, when he spoke gain his voice was quiet, pleading, "But I need you," he told her.
She smiled as she shook her head, "You don't need me, Jon," she argued. "The men here respect you, the others will as well. You are legitimate. You are Robb's heir. You will do well. And when you need help, you have two wonderful sisters who understand the North better than I ever will. They will help guide you. You do not need me."
Jon sighed, he seemed to accept Lenora's answer, even though he did not seem to like it. "Where will you go?" he asked her, putting voice to the thought in Jaime's head, if Lenora did not intend to be queen, she would not stay in the North.
"South," Lenora told him simply. "Perhaps by way of the Twins," there was something in her grey eyes when she said that, a flash that made Jaime nervous. "Eventually all the way to King's Landing." There was steel in her voice, she would not be traveling south to reunite with her family, that much was certain.
"Len," Jaime started, meaning to argue with her.
She turned to him and shook her head once, instantly silencing him. "You will not change my mind, Uncle Jaime," she warned him. "I will not hide away here in the North because it is safer. I will not avoid heading south because it would be easier. I must return to King's Landing."
"Why?" Jon asked, stepping closer to her. "Why must you return to them?"
She glanced between the two of them, "Look at what my mother has done," she urged them. "Not only in the last two years, but since long before that, since she became queen and betrayed my father" She shook her head, "That was why I sent for you, Uncle Jaime," she told him, turning her gaze solely on him. "It is time that we prepare to head south again. It is time that I begin to fix everything that Mother has ruined."
Jaime watched her carefully, wondering when his little niece, his Len had grown into a woman. It must have happened before his own eyes, but he had not noticed it. "Nora," he told her, for the first time using Robb Stark's nickname for her, she had earned it, she was no longer the little girl he had raised at Casterly Rock, but a woman, raised and hardened on the battlefield. "It is not your job to fix what your mother has ruined. At least not on your own."
Her lips turned up at the corners, a smirk, "Why do you think that I'm bringing you with me?" she asked him, half jesting. "This is as much your mess as her own, Jaime."
-.-.-.-.-
Cersei
They've got their thorns in him now.
Those damnable words had been echoing in her head for the past fortnight.
At times a quiet whisper that woke her up in the middle of the night and sent her tearing out of her bed chamber to stand outside Tommen's own chambers, listening through the door to try to hear her son to ensure that he was still alive.
Other times a loud roar in her ears, so forceful and angry that she was unable to hear anything else as she watched Tommen and Margaery in the throne room.
But always there, always taunting her. Always reminding her that she had already failed to protect three of her children. Always promising that she would, in turn, fail to protect her fourth child as well.
It had taken her no more than a day to understand what Joffrey had been trying to tell her. It was there in the angry roar every time she saw them together. The Starks had been the downfall for Lenora, Tyrion for Joffrey, the Martells for Myrcella. She had had her misgivings about all of them, but no clear warning.
Until now, until Tommen.
That was why Joffrey had appeared to her the day she received the news about Myrcella. That was why he continued to appear to her every day since. He meant to warn her, to help her protect the last of her children.
They've got their thorns in him now.
Joffrey did not say claws, as was the common phrase. It was not some beast that had her son in its clutches, but something far more dangerous. Something innocent and safe looking, something that could fool a person into believing that they were safe. A flower. More specifically - a rose. A rose that hid its thorns under pretty smiles and simpering looks. A rose from Highgarden.
The Tyrells would be the death of her last remaining child.
She knew it.
And it would be up to her to protect him from them.
The roses of Highgarden might have had their thorns, but she was a Lannister. A lion. And one thing she had learned from nature is that a lioness was fiercest when protecting her cubs. It was something that Highgarden had yet to learn, but they would know intimately by the end of the day.
...
She had finished pouring herself a goblet of wine when a knock sounded on the door to her chambers. She turned, her gaze landing on the corner of the room where her eldest son sat, watching her silently. She smiled at him, meaning to reassure him, to silently promise him that she would protect his younger brother.
"You're too late, Mother," he told her, his voice hollow and echoing in the chamber around them.
"I'm not," she assured him as she moved toward the door, opening it to see Qyburn standing in the corridor. She moved aside, allowing him to move further into the chamber. "Is it ready?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.
Qyburn nodded, "Yes, Your Grace," he promised her.
She nodded, taking a sip of the wine. "They're all in the Sept?" she asked.
Again Qyburn nodded, "All except for Lady Olenna," he answered. "The lady is suffering from an illness. She remains in her chambers."
Cersei felt her lips tug down at the corners. It was less than ideal, she wished to rid herself and the kingdom of all the Tyrells, in one fell swoop, but she supposed that in the end, it was better this way. This way Lady Olenna would understand how Cersei had felt all of these months, watching her children as they were taken from her.
Just as Lady Olenna had meant for Cersei to watch Tommen be taken from her. It was only right. She took another sip of her wine. "Lady Olenna's chambers look out toward the Sept of Baelor," she whispered, more to herself than her advisor. She glanced toward the corner of the chamber where Joffrey sat, watching her carefully. He smiled. She nodded, "She will see what has happened to her family from her sickbed," she assured her son.
She turned, glancing back at Qyburn as she took another sip of wine, "And Tommen?" she asked. "Where is my son?"
"Locked in his chambers," Qyburn assured her, his gaze following Cersei's goblet as she lifted it to her lips to take another sip. "Though I am certain he has yet to realize it."
"Good," she told him with a nod as she walked away. "That is very good. He thinks himself in love with her, if he were to leave the keep the first thing he would do is search her out. I cannot have him anywhere near the Sept today."
She took another sip of wine as she moved toward the window, Joffrey stood from his seat and moved with her, coming to stand beside her as they both looked out over the city toward the Sept of Baelor, each waiting, holding their breath in anticipation.
It had been easy enough to get them there. She had sent out an invitation to the entire House from Highgarden, Lord and Lady, their daughter - the pretend Queen, and her brother, the cousins and servants. She had taken it a step further, inviting any other Lord and Lady in the Red Keep that were a danger to her or her family, anyone who had ever disagreed with her, fought her, judged her.
They were all there, waiting for her. For the announcement that she had told them she intended to make. No doubt growing restless as they waited for her to make her entrance. And she did intend to make an entrance, one that the Seven Kingdoms would never forget. Cersei planned to show everyone in the realm what happened to those that threatened her and her family.
First she would deal with the Tyrells, she would protect her son.
Then she would go after the Martells for what they had done to Myrcella. She would find Tyrion, wherever the little monster was in the world and punish him for what he had done to Joffrey. Then she would travel North, hunt down the Starks in their keep and destroy them for how they had destroyed Lenora.
Only then, once her children were safe or avenged, would she be able to rest.
She took another sip of wine. The glass was empty, she turned, glancing expectantly at Qyburn, holding out her empty goblet to him. He moved, carefully toward her and took the goblet from her hand. He only filled it half way before he tried to hand it back to her. She stared at him for a moment before he gaze drifted back to the decanter, the right corner of her lips tugging up into a smirk while he filled the glass the rest of the way.
When he handed it back to her she took a long sip, draining half the goblet in one pull to make up for the delay. Then she turned back to the window, her gaze landing on the Sept of Baelor, "How long do you think?" she asked, not certain if she was speaking to Qyburn, or her silent son beside her. She turned slightly, inclining her chin toward Qyburn while keeping her gaze on the city in front of her. "How long, do you think, until it happens?"
"Soon, Your Grace," Qyburn assured her as she took another sip of wine. "Patience is a virtue from the gods."
"I don't care about the bloody gods or their virtues," she growled out, turning from the window to glare at her advisor. "I care about my son. I care about his safety. And every second those people remain breathing is a danger to him. I want it done, and I want it done quickly."
"And will be, Your Grace," Qyburn assured her.
"Not quick enough," Joffrey mocked her from beside her, his green eyes still locked on the Sept. "They'll leave if they have to wait much longer."
Cersei nodded as she glanced at Qyburn, waiting for his answer. The man did not respond to Joffrey's warning. She sighed, "What do you have to say to that?" she asked him, nodding toward her son. "They will leave if they have to wait much longer. We cannot let them leave."
"They won't, Your Grace," Qyburn promised her, his brows furrowing in concern as he watched her. "We have members of the City Watch and the Red Guard stationed outside every door to the Sept. They have their orders, not to let anyone in or out until you arrive. They may get impatient in there, but they will not leave."
Cersei sighed, taking another sip of wine. "That is all well and good, but what about me. I do not have all day to stand here, staring at the Sept and waiting. I must go see my son. I must make plans to save my other children."
"Your other children, Your Grace?" Qyburn asked, the worry lines between his furrowed brows becoming even more pronounced. "You only have -"
"Yes," Cersei interrupted emphatically. "My other children. Myrcella, Joffrey, Lenora. I will not stop until they are all safe. This is only the beginning Qyburn. I promise you that."
"But Lady Lenora -"
She interrupted him again. "Has betrayed her family," she answered. "She will need to be punished for it." She took a sip of wine. "But she is still my daughter. She will be punished, but I will forgive her. And I will see to it the Joffrey forgives her as well. We will be a family again, as we once were. As we were always meant to be."
She lifted her goblet to her lips only to find it empty again. Rather than wait for Qyburn to refill it she moved around him toward the table and lifted the entire decanter, bringing it back to the window with her so that she could pour her own wine without leaving the window. She did not want to miss the show.
She poured the wine into the goblet hastily, some of it splashed out of the goblet and onto her hand, staining the pale skin with droplets that looked like blood. She ignored them, there may be blood on her hands, it had been there long before now, but it had appeared while she was protecting her children. The gods and her brother would not judge her for it.
There was another knock on her chamber door, she did not turn away from the window, she was not expecting anyone else to join them. "Send them away," she ordered Qyburn. A smirk played at her lips while she borrowed Lady Olenna's excuse for not attending the Sept that morning, "Tell them I am feeling ill."
She took a sip of wine as she heard Qyburn move toward the door and open it. It was her son's guards. There was a whispered conversation, one she barely heard, focused as she was on the Sept before her. She was waiting, to hear Qyburn send the guard away and shut the door. But he did not. The door to her chamber remained open as she heard him move across the chamber toward her.
"Your Grace," he told her, reaching out, placing a hand on her upper arm gently. His voice was quiet and hesitant.
She turned to him, impatient, "Why haven't you sent him away?" she asked him, her gaze drifting over Qyburn's shoulder to land on the guard and narrowing. "Send him away."
Qyburn stepped forward, "He brought you a message, You Grace," he told her.
"What message?" Cersei asked, stepping closer to Qyburn.
Qyburn glanced down, he seemed afraid. "King Tommen has sent word that he eagerly awaits your announcement in the Sept of Baelor," he told her quietly.
The wine glass in her hand fell to the floor, shattering and sending wine droplets splattering across her dark skirts. She shook her head, "No," she whispered. He was supposed to be locked in his chambers, well away from the Sept. He was supposed to be safe. Her gaze fell on Qyburn, narrowing into a glare. "Stop it," she hissed at him, an order to revers the actions that had already been taken. "Put an end to it."
Qyburn stepped forward, "Your Grace," he started, slow and gentle.
That was all he got out before a loud roar from the center of the city pulled her attention away from him and out the window again. She watched, her eyes wide as for a moment the building disappeared in a rush of green flames. There was a second when she thought that she could hear the screams of the people inside before they were all burned away. Even from the distance she could hear the rocks crumbling and tearing apart from the explosion and the fire. It would have been a moment of celebration if it weren't for the knowledge she had just received.
Her scream was silent, strangled in her own throat, unable to escape her lips. Bile was rising in her throat, she could feel it climbing its way up. Unlike the scream, this was not stopped by her tightening throat, it filled her mouth. She turned from the window, bending over as it spewed from her mouth, covering the stone wall and her skirts.
Tommen.
She could hear the smirk in Joffrey's voice as he bent closer to her, "I told you that you wouldn't be able to save him, Mother," her son taunted. "You aren't able to save anyone."
...
There was nothing left of him. Nothing that Qyburn could find at least. She had sent him down to the wreckage in the foolish hope that her new maester would be able to find her son, or rather some part of her son. But Qyburn had been unable to find anything, he returned with nothing more than a handful of ashes.
They could be symbolic, he had explained to her. While they might be the ashes of the sept itself, or of one of those monsters from Highgarden, she could imagine that they were Tommen's. She could imagine that they represented the three children she had lost and the fourth that was still lost to her somewhere in the North.
She had scoffed at the idea when he first suggested it. But that evening she had called for the royal jeweler and had him make a locket for her, gold with a Lannister lion on its face. When opened, inside there was a thin, glass container that she had him press the ashes into. The chain just long enough that when she wore the locket, the ashes were next to her heart so that she could carry them with her everywhere.
It was the only adornment she allowed herself on this very special day. Her hair was pulled into a simple braid down her back, her dress black velvet and leather, and her gold locket. It was meant to set her apart; not only from her past self and all the gold and red that she had once worn, but also from every other rule the Seven Kingdoms had had. Coronations were typically days of celebrations, they were held outside in the sunlight, there were feasts and dances and entertainment.
But this one would be different. It was to be held in the throne room, after sunset. There would be no feast, no celebration, no bright colors. A solemn affair for the woman who had lost everything but the throne.
It had been a practical decision to plan her coronation this way. She was a mother in mourning after all. But more than that, as she walked down the aisle, staring straight ahead at the Iron Throne she realized that even if she had planned for celebrations, she wouldn't have gotten them. The lords and ladies that filled the throne room today were there out of fear, not love. They had seen what she had done to the Sept of Baelor and although no one had made a formal accusation, they all thought it was her. They would not celebrate her being queen, but out of fear they would tolerate it.
They were all sheep.
Cersei kept her head held high, her eyes locked on the throne in front of her as she tried not to let it get to her. All she had ever wanted was to be loved and all she had ever been was tolerated. Her father had not loved her as he should have; always looking toward Jaime as if he were the brightest thing in the room. Robert had never loved her; always hung up on Lyanna Stark, the woman he had lost. Jaime hadn't truly loved her; if he had he would not have abandoned her. And the same went for her children, all four of them had abandoned her when she needed them most.
But these sheep in the throne room, they would not abandon her, they were too afraid of her to do so. Perhaps that had been her mistake. She had wanted to be loved, when what she should have wanted was to be feared.
She would not make that mistake again.
They watched in frightened silence as Qyburn proclaimed her Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. They did not smile, they did not cheer, no one cried with happiness as they had when Tommen was crowned. "Long may she reign!" Qyburn announced once she sat on the Iron Throne.
"Long may she reign!" they answered
As her gaze swept over the crowd in front of her she caught them in the corner, their golden hair shining brighter than anything else in the throne room. Three of her four children, standing, watching her with proud smiles on their faces.
She had been unable to protect them, but they knew she would avenge them.
And now she had the power to do it.
-.-.-.-.-
Lenora
"Here you are, Your Grace," one of the stableboys told her, quickly running toward her, with Casterly trotting behind him. It was the first time that Lenora had seen the horse since returning to Winterfell. Every day she had meant to go to the stable to see him and every day she had stopped. First out of fear that she would find him dead, that Ramsay had killed him in a last ditch effort to hurt her, and then because she could barely stand crossing the courtyard because that meant walking past the kennels where they had found Rickon, and then because she couldn't move through the courtyard without remembering how she had killed Littlefinger.
She did not feel guilty for killing him. She did not regret it. But, she did feel guilt at not feeling guilty. Whatever he was, monster and man, he had deserved a trial, if only so that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would know what he truly was, but she had not allowed that to happen. She couldn't even remember making the decision to kill him.
And that reminded her too much of her mother for her comfort.
But she was in the courtyard today, and she was finally reunited with her faithful horse because they were leaving. Her and Jaime, the Hound and Brienne, Bronn and Ser Justin and the few other men from her uncle's army that had survived the battle with Ramsay. They were a small group, but both she and Jaime were sure that the further south they traveled, the more support they would gain.
Jon was not happy that she was leaving, he worried that with the weather getting colder they would freeze and starve on the road. Winter was not kind to travelers. But no one knew how long the Winter would last, everyone was calling for a long one, and Lenora would not allow herself to be trapped up at Winterfell for the entire Winter because Jon was afraid she would get cold on the road.
He had offered up some Northern men, they would travel with her and her men until Moat Cailin, but no further. It was much more generous than she had expected, or wanted to accept, but neither Jon, nor Jaime, would let her argue.
She smiled, thanking the stableboy as she moved closer to Casterly, reaching up to stroke his face. He had been mistreated while under Ramsay's care, she had seen it herself, the day before the battle, that he was underfed, but the stableboys had worked hard to remedy that since Winterfell had been given back to the Starks. But what they could not fix the scars, she could see them running down his back, long pale streaks, whips.
Ramsay had whipped him until he bled.
"You poor thing," she whispered, leaning closer to the horse and standing on her tiptoes so that she could get a better look at his face. "You and I will both carry Ramsay's scars with us for the rest of our lives."
She did not expect the horse to understand her, but he let out a soft whiney, almost a comforting noise as he leaned his head forward, knocking his nose against her forehead and sending her tripping backwards, laughing as caught herself before she could fall.
"It's good to hear your laugh, my lady," she heard someone call out from behind her. She turned, Ser Davos was standing behind her, far enough away to give her space, but close enough to talk to her. He smiled, "I know Jon Snow worried that you would never laugh again when you first arrived at Castle Black."
"Stark," Lenora murmured quietly, not so much a correction as a suggestion. "They'll be calling him Stark now."
Davos nodded, glancing down at his hands, there was something in them, something he held carefully, gently, an object of great importance. "And you're still a queen," he added. "I should be calling you, Your Grace, not my lady."
Lenora shrugged her shoulders, she cared very little about the titles when it was a friend addressing her. She nodded toward Davos's hands, toward the object, "What do you have there, Ser Davos?" she asked him.
Davos glanced down at it for a moment, almost hesitating, before he moved forward, holding his hand outstretched so that he could give it to her. It was a stag, beautifully carved out of wood, expertly crafted even. Lenora felt her lips turn up at the corners as she looked down at the stag, her fingers brushing over the smooth lines. She glanced up at Davos, her eyebrows lifted as she waited silently for an explanation.
"I carved it," he told her quietly, his gaze locked on the wooden figurine in her hands. "For your cousin, Princess Shireen. I gave it to her before I was sent to the Wall to beg Jon Snow for help."
Lenora swallowed as she looked down at the stag in her hands. In everything that had happened to her over the past year she had forgotten that there had been another Baratheon princess, Stannis daughter Shireen. She had never met the child, as she lived on Dragonstone and Cersei would not let any of her children travel that far from their family. The girl had been infected with Greyscale as an infant, and though maesters had been able to save her life t had left her disfigured. From the rumors she had heard, her aunt never let the child out of her room, even if she had gone to Dragonstone to visit Stannis and his family, she might not have met her cousin.
"I was told she died," Lenora told him softly, her voice little more than a whisper. "During the battle between Stannis and Ramsay's men. No one knows who did it, but knowing what I know of Ramsay, it does not surprise me. He would not have spared the girl, even if she was brought to him."
Davos nodded, he understood that, but his jaw clenched, he disagreed with something she had said. "She died before the battle," he told her, his voice hard. "That stag you're holding proves it."
"How, Ser Davos?" Lenora asked. She did not doubt him, and given her recent actions with Littlefinger she was more likely than anyone to listen to and believe the man's suspicions. But she was still coming to terms with her guilt and how little she felt it. She needed to be careful now.
"Shireen would have carried it everywhere," he told her. "And I do not doubt that she did. I did not find it in a tent, or on the battlefield. I found it the night before our battle against the bastard. I found it away from camp in front of a pillar that was used to burn someone." Lenora opened her mouth, about to ask him how he knew that Ramsay's men had not burned the girl, but he kept talking. "She burns people as a sacrifice to her damned god. I've seen her do it to your uncle's own men, I knew that he believed in her power. I never thought he would believe so much -" he cut himself off, shaking his head, "his own daughter."
Lenora glanced back at the stag in her hand, she felt sick at the thought of it all. She knew what she wanted to do, what Davos wanted her to do, but she couldn't. "She burned her at the stake," she guessed, glancing up at Davos in time to see the man nod.
"Her lord brought Jon back from the dead, he saved him so that he could take Winterfell back, but he also commands the Red Woman to murder children, to murder little girls, he is evil. And so is she."
Lenora nodded, glancing down, she could understand Davos' anger, though she thought some of it misplaced. She had known that her uncle Stannis had been desperate to be king, that he had not recognized Renly's claim, or Robb's, that he saw anyone who did not immediately name him King of the Seven Kingdoms as an enemy. She had never thought much of him helping her because she stood as opposition to him, another claimant of the throne. She wondered, if he had somehow found her, rescued her from Ramsay if she would have met the same fate as her cousin, burned in sacrifice to some foreign god.
"I loved that little girl as my own," Davos told her, his voice cracking. "She was good. She was kind. And the Red Woman murdered her."
Lenora glanced up, aware that her next words would anger the man, "So did my uncle," she told him, her voice quiet and hard. That seemed to stop Davos in his anger, he turned to her, his eyes wide. She sighed, " You blame the Red Woman," she told him. "I would blame Stannis. She would not have burned Shireen if he had not given her his permission. Shireen died because my uncle was so desperate for the crown and the Seven Kingdoms that he believed the Red Woman when she said that burning his daughter alive was the only way to win. He chose a crown over his child, and you're angry."
"Only because he believed what she told him," Davos argued. "He believed her."
"Because he wanted to," Lenora countered. She sighed, "I've heard them say that you were there the night a shadow killed my uncle Renly, that you were the one who brought her there. He killed his own brother, he killed his daughter, all for a crown he would never wear. You saw it." She paused, watching the man carefully. "I suspect, Ser Davos, that a great deal of your anger is at yourself. For serving Stannis, for believing in him, for the monster playing at being a man earlier. And I do not blame you for that."
His glance down in shame was the answer she needed. She sighed, stepping forward to place the stag back in his hand. "What would you have me do?" she asked him quietly.
Davos glanced up at her, "Give me leave to have her executed," he requested, "as punishment for her crimes."
It was watching him then that Lenora realized that Sansa's show and the story about how they did not know who had killed Littlefinger had not fooled everyone. Davos saw more than he let on and he had figured it out. He was coming to her, looking for the same sort of justice that she had doled out to Littlefinger. And for a moment she wanted to give it. But she was a queen, and one thing she was quickly learning was that every one of her actions had consequences. She would not risk that again.
She shook her head, "The Red Woman does not answer to me," she told Davos softly. "She is at Winterfell at Jon's invitation and under his protection. I do not doubt that he will soon be named King in the North, and it is no longer my place to make decisions here. If you want justice, take this matter up with him. Or seek it yourself. But I cannot help you, Ser Davos."
He took a step away from her, watching her as if she were a stranger. "She was your cousin," he breathed, his tone full of accusations.
Lenora nodded, she could handle his accusations, "And the price my uncle was willing to pay for the crown and the throne," she told him flatly. "He is the one in your story that I would place the blame on."
Author's Note:
Tried to make it a long one since I made you guys wait so long for it. But, even with the length, quite a few bits of it were filler. BIG things are happening soon. AND Robb will be back in the next chapter.
Thank you so much for sticking by me and this story during our hiatus, thank you for reading, for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites lists, your communities, thank you for your reviews!
They really are love.
Lokilova: Thank you so much! I was so worried about the opening section of the last chapter. Being a sane person, I was terrified that I wasn't going to pull off sending Cersei on her path. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it.
Lulu14168: I'm glad that you came into the chapter not that concerned with Rickon. I know a lot of people were very worried about him, but as far as I was concerned he was dead from the beginning. Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
PsychoBeachGirl88: I love how obsessed you are! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. There's a reunion in the next chapter, no promises on it being the BIG reunion, but there is one. Thank you so much for your review!
kira444: She will. We're working toward her learning about it now. It'll be good when it happens!
RHatch89: No more Baelish! I'm so glad that you're excited for this story! I'm excited too!
Lbuj: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope the chapter was worth it.
Guest1995: Don't worry, I have a plan for Lenora and Cersei. When they have their reunion, it won't be a cold shoulder. I'm so sorry though that I have crashed all of your hopes for the Baratheon/Lannister siblings in the span of two chapters. No reunion for Lenora with either of her siblings, but they did serve to help Cersei along to where I need her to be. Not only is she not able to protect her children, but she is now directly responsible for at least one of their deaths.
As for Gendry and Lenora, I can personally guarantee that meeting. So you will have that to look forward to.
ZabuzasGirl: She won't marry Jon. I promise you that. Robb is it for her. I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as well.
StarkTeller: Those seemed to be everyone's favorite parts of the last chapter. Cersei going insane and Gendry's questions about Lenora. I'm strangely proud that I got you to the point where you wanted to cry! That means I did my job.
That sounds like a lot of fun. I would have been right there with you, screaming for Robb Stark and Winterfell!
The Three Stoogies: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!
HPun101: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And as always, a HUGE thank you for the compliment. I'm always a huge fan of hearing that my chapters are well written. It makes me smile. I was totally absent for way too long and I apologize for that.
darkwolf76: Can I start by saying that I love when you play catch up! Most people would just read all the updated chapters and review on the most recent update. But you review every chapter and I adore it. So thank you for that!
And also, you're welcome for letting a direwolf be the one to kill Ramsay, I don't know why they didn't do that on the show, they've got ghost. For a show and a book that is all about symbolism, I feel like they really dropped the ball on that one, so I decided to make it right here.
And while Lenora's reaction to Ramsay's death wasn't necessarily your cup of tea, I'm glad that it was well written. And the banter between Jon and Jaime. You're the only one that brought that up! So thank you for noticing that.
Moving on to chapter 77. I'm glad you enjoyed Cersei's going crazy. It's a mix of the wine and a bit of my attempt at turning Cersei into a Lady Macbeth. She's seeing things, hearing voices. And it's just going to keep getting worse.
Lenora got dark in that chapter too. She's trying to work her way out of it in this chapter, but you can kind of see based on her almost justification for Melisandre's actions. But she'll get there. Most likely with Robb's help.
I'm glad you picked up on the fact that Lenora and Cersei were traveling down very similar paths in the last chapter. There was a reason for that.
Padfootette: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!
JanaOliver: Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you absolutely loved the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well.
Gamemaster77: I almost cried when I read your thoughts on the Cersei part of the last chapter. You really think it was the best part of the story that I've ever written? That means so much! So thank you! I was very worried about that section so it was wonderful to hear/read that you enjoyed it.
Blossoming bromances. Don't worry there will be more of it in the next chapter! I have such a soft spot for those two beautiful boys that they need to have a happy, wonderful bromance as soon as possible. And your review gave me an idea ... not sure if it will make it into the story, but I'm just imagining Tyrion, Lenora, and Jaime, all cozied up together with Tyrion telling them about Robb and Gendry, embellishing and making fun for the two guys while doing it.
ElderDragonSage: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well!
UnknownReaderHasJoined: I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and that it answered some questions for you. I've been playing this fun game of deciding which GoT deaths I want to keep and which ones I want to trade for someone else. Bran definitely got the short end of the stick for that one. You're right.
All of your other questions will be answered in time, though I did answer your Shireen question by complete accident!
LorettaV: Thank you so much! Welcome to the review club and the binge club! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! Thank you so much for letting me know! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as the other seventy-seven!
MusicismySoul87: Oh my goodness! Two days! Damn! And then because I'm an asshole I made you wait a month for an update. I'm sorry for that. I hope you enjoyed the chapter though!
ericaphoenix16: You're welcome! Thank you for reviewing!
Guest(1): Oh no! I'm so sorry that I made you wait so long! Life and Avengers got in the way. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that it helped to make at least some of the wait worth it.
Hannah-Hurricane: Thank you so much for your review! I'm absolutely thrilled that you are enjoying this story so much! Thank you for reading, and also for reviewing! You are wonderful!
Lenora Stark: Ah! I love the name! That makes me so happy! I've missed you guys too!
Dray: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so much! As for who will rule the North (and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms) you will have to wait and see. Though I am thrilled that you are as happy with my portrayal of Jaime as you are ... he has always been one of my favorites.
JP: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you are enjoying this story and the relationship I have created between Jaime and Lenora. I've got a few more twists planned for them, and I hope that you will enjoy them all.
Guest(2): I'm not gone for good. I promise! I won't do that to you guys. I might go away fro a bit, but I will always come back. I have to finish this story.
unichick21: Here you go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it will still be a bit before Lenora and Robb find each other!
That's all I've got for now friends!
I will (hopefully) be back much sooner than last time!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane
P.S. Cavs in 7!