This new chapter is set roughly fifteen months after chapter 1. The year is 285 A.C.
Cersei breathed a sigh of relief, the babe was finally asleep. She looked at her two children, Jon, clutching his blanket, his thumb in his mouth, his head filled with black hair, was sound asleep. Myrcella, with blondish black hair sleeping on her back was finally asleep, after an hour of crying and general noise. Cersei took a moment to look at her children, simply look, not think, not worry, just look. Smiling she turned and walked out of the nursery, nodding to Ser Mandon Moore who stood on guard duty, she opened the door to her husband's solar and sat down next to him. "It's late, Robert. What are you looking at?"
Her husband, his hair ruffled, his eyes barely open murmured something then cleared his throat and said. "The reports from Braavos. It seems that Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen have moved from the Sealord's house to Willam Darry's little manor. I could have them killed now, but to do so would break the peace agreements we have negotiated with Braavos. And as such, I don't really want the Dornish rising in rebellion right now. Not when they've finally agreed to come to Summerhall to discuss the Hearth Tax."
Cersei hummed, the hearth tax was something her husband had been planning for a few months now. A way to raise revenue for the crown without skimping off the top of the customs raised by the Lords Paramount. Doran Martell had been the main opposition to it being put into law. "Do you think he's finally cowed his lords in accepting that this tax will actually benefit them?"
Robert snorted. "I doubt it, more than likely he'll come to Summerhall with a list of reasons why the thing hurts Dorne. That man is always looking as if he's cowed by his lords, but I think there's something else going on there."
"I agree. Doran Martell is not the weak wallflower that he pretends to be. Indeed, I think he is rather like his mother. Pretending to be weak and strong at the same time. Where the truth is actually somewhere in the middle." Cersei replied. She thought for a moment and then asked. "Will his daughter be coming to this plan of yours at Oldstones?"
"No!" Robert laughed. "She might be heir to Dorne, but she is a girl. And she is already five years older than Jon. No, I want people who are of an age with our son to be there. Ned's boy will be there, Jon Umber's son will be there, Wyman Manderly's grandson will be there, and a whole host of other lords' heirs will be there as well. When the thing is done, in around three years' time, then we shall see."
Cersei sighed, she wasn't sure if she approved of there being so many Northmen around her son. Yes, the north had helped her husband win the throne, but they were also some of the most barbarous people on the face of the known world. And there were things that they did, such as the First Night that she didn't want her son knowing about. But she knew that bringing that up with Robert would not do any good. Instead she turned the conversation to something else. "I have had a letter from my father, he is already suggesting marriages for Myrcella."
"By the Seven!" Robert exclaimed. "She's only four moons old, what good is a marriage now? Half the marriages that were arranged before the rebellion didn't even happen."
Cersei spoke the words she'd read on the letter. "He thinks that it will be most beneficial to ensure that the stability of the dynasty is secured right away with betrothals now. To ensure nobody changes their mind."
"And who does he suggest?" Robert demanded.
"Edmure Tully, Willas Tyrell, Quentyn Martell, Rodrick Greyjoy, Robert Arryn, Andar Royce, Wallace Waynwood, and Lord Ormund Cafferen." Cersei said, reciting the names she'd learned by heart only one of them she thought was suitable.
"Edmure and Willas are older than Myrcella by a decade. Quentyn Martell will not inherit anything. Rodrick Greyjoy is an Ironborn, no one in the council or anywhere else will approve of that. Robert Arryn, I can see, and the others are minor lords." Robert said. "Perhaps your father should leave the marriage making to us, Myrcella's actual parents."
Cersei hummed her agreement. Then as she looked at the candle she said. "Come now, my lord, the hour is late, and you have to attend a function tomorrow."
As they stood up, Robert mumbled. "What function is that?"
"The feast celebrating the return of your brother, the Lord of Dragonstone from Pentos and his successful negotiations with Illyrio Mopatis, the Magister of Pentos." Cersei reminded him.
They walked out of the solar and into the King's rooms, where Ser Barristan and Ser Preston stood guard. "Ah. Yes." Robert replied. "You know he still complains about Dragonstone. He insists that he will only get a wife, if he is made Lord of Storm's End, or given a princely rank."
Cersei laid down on the bed, and watched as her husband took off his shirt and trousers and got changed. She admired his muscles for a time, then answered. "Your brother can enjoy the fact that you are giving him such important work to do. Though I have thought of someone he could marry."
"And who would that be?" Robert asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.
"Rhea Florent. Someone who would ensure the Tyrells did not try anything, and she is young. I know Lord Hightower is looking to marry her, but I do think her father would much prefer be married to the second in line to the throne, rather than a mere Lord." Cersei said.
"Stannis is third in line to the throne. Or rather he will be once the law is changed." Robert replied. "But yes that would make some sense and perhaps would prevent him from grumbling all the time. A nice wife, some children, and he won't ever think about Storm's End."
"Shall I write to Lord Florent?" Cersei asked.
"Yes." Robert replied, as he got into bed. The darkness finally