A/N: I am SO sorry. I dread to think how many of you I've put off by taking a month-long break. Especially after a cliffhanger of sorts. But school has been very busy, and I'm probably going to have to accept that I won't be able to post as much as I did in the summer. But I haven't forgotten about this story, and I hoped you haven't either. Anyway, here's a new chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter 14
Cersei POV
Iron Throne High School hasn't changed too much in the last twenty-odd years. Or maybe some of that's my imagination. Perhaps, in my imagination, Iron Throne High doesn't have the elegant science block they built after extensive planning issues five years ago, or the new influx of teachers from my generation, or the mobile phones every teenager at the school seems glued to. Perhaps, in my mind's eye, Iron Throne kids still have punk hairdos and see the Targaryens as the cool ones. I suppose a part of the Cersei Lannister that was educated here still lives on inside of me, although I'm a mother of three in my thirties. A lot of me still identifies with an ambitious fifteen-year-old watching her dreams being stifled.
I crease my eyebrows at myself, as I realise one of my sources of nostalgia is "Targaryens being cool". Do I really miss white blonde hair dye being all the rage? Or dragon jewellery? Or fiery eye shadow? Of course not. I shunned all those trends, proudly writing "Hear Me Roar" on my arms and saving up for a lion tattoo when I turned eighteen? My children are lucky. They're part of a generation where Lannisters are the respected ones, the prom kings and queens, the ones whose names are written in the school's history books, as they should be. And so am I, I suppose. The mother of Joffrey – the most universally admired boy in the school. Myrcella – pretty and gentle, a combination that wins hearts at Iron Throne, the latter of which I myself had to do without. And finally, Tommen – only seven, but already showing the genuine compassion Joffrey lacks.
But I am Cersei Lannister. A lioness. Fifteen-year-old me never wanted to be renowned and respected for things her children do. The one thing I really want is the Lannisport-based firm my father runs, and it's likely to be inherited by one of two men, neither of whom have a stronger claim to it or desire for it than me. I am sister to these two men, one of whom will never take an interest in it, whose ambitions lie elsewhere, in the Westerosi Army. And the other of whom…it's difficult to explain. To cut a long story short, despite any ambitions in finance he may have, he isn't exactly what my ancestors thought would carry the Lannister name and business into future generations. So that leaves me, Tywin Lannister's only daughter. And, as it turns out, Tywin Lannister is not the sort of man to allow a woman, even if her achievements in school were of equal calibre to mine, to become the next-generation shareholder in Lannister Ltd. Therefore, all the fame that will ever taint my name will be a result of the successes of my father, brothers and children. To say that the teenage me would be disappointed would be a gross understatement.
The teenage me would also pose the question, what if my children don't become respected themselves? That is exactly why my heart beats a little quicker than normal walking to the headmaster's office. Joffrey has "made a mistake", said the email I received yesterday, and I've been summoned to discuss said mistake. How serious a mistake? Joffrey is too young to know how serious the personal cost of certain decisions in life can be. And I don't want him to ever have to find out. No, Cersei. He won't have to find out. You won't let him. I prefer to listen to this side of my mind, the vaguely optimistic side. Joffrey is my pride, my joy, and at times he's been all I've had. And if Petyr Baelish thinks he can tear down my eldest son's name, tear down my name, put so much as a scratch on the Lannister name, he has seriously underestimated what I can do.
I am filled with this kind of confidence and pride as I enter Mr Baelish's pretentiously oak-panelled office. I'm dressed in primarily red and gold, as I always do when I'm trying to make a point about my family, and I'm more aware of it than ever as I feel the smoothness of the crimson silk of my dress rub against my thigh. A mockingbird is no match for a lion. You don't have to have studied in Oldtown to know that.
"Ms Lannister! Right on time. Please do take a seat." Baelish is in simpering mode, and his words seem to trickle like honey from his thin, pursed lips.
"I appreciate that you have made seating arrangements. But please, call me Cersei. Like we did when we walked down the hallways of this very building. What did I call you again? Little…? Little something, definitely. Littlefinger, wasn't it?" I smirk, knowing his high school bullying experience is something of a weakness to him.
"Considering I am no longer the small, wimpy boy I was in high school, and I no longer live in the Fingers, I feel that that particular nickname is somewhat inaccurate." We smirk at each other from either side of the desk. We both know how to play this game, and both of us are unwilling to let the other win.
"I suppose you're right. I was a little insensitive, perhaps." He probably knows this is all a façade, but it still pains me to show even faux kindness to a man so intent on bringing my family down. "Petyr, then? I feel wrong calling you Mr Baelish. Would you feel right addressing a man two years your junior as you would a teacher? It's rather uncomfortable."
"Petyr it is. First name terms. To the point then, Cersei. Your son may be respected and somewhat "popular", to borrow a word from the teenage vernacular, but he must know that the way to deal with violence is reason, not reciprocation."
Ha. Joffrey must have got himself into a fight. He doesn't understand the concept of reputation, but he must have had a reason. And I'm sure whoever it was that wronged a Lannister got exactly what they deserved. Perhaps it was one of those sickeningly self-righteous Starks, the eldest daughter of whom took a ride in our car today. I almost feel sorry for the poor girl, cursed with naïvety, always seeing the good in people. Blissfully ignorant of the depth of the rift between our two families, and how she will only deepen it.
I re-centre my thoughts and try a different tack with Petyr. I'm not especially worried about Joffrey's violence, since anything too scandalous would have got back to me by now. What I'm worried about is Petyr himself. "Do you know the terrors a large family like mine could bring down on a small, pathetic man like you?"
"I do, Cersei. Didn't we all learn The Rains of Castamere in school music class? And I may be pathetic, but I'm not stupid enough to punch an older boy who thinks I murdered his father."
This throws me off course a little. "What?"
"Robb Stark. Your son punched the Stark boy, after he threw the first blow in an act of revenge. Ned Stark is dead, and your family are the prime suspects. An artful piece of framing, hats off to that particular criminal mastermind. Good luck in convincing the police of their innocence, and with knocking some sense into that conniving brat of yours. You'll need it. Also, wish Joffrey luck in seducing Robb's sister. I'm not going to pretend to understand that kid." He narrows his eyes, and allows himself a fraction of a smile. He's defeated me, and he realises it.
The old trick of Lannister influence isn't working on a man like Petyr. He knows more than anybody thinks he does, and my downfall will be forgetting that crucial little piece of information.