Cersei
She stood before the people of King's Landing, all of whom had been gathered to see her begin her reign. All were gathered in the throne room, the hall of power for Westeros made so large that every lord and lady, no matter they be of the greatest houses or from shacks that barely allowed them to claim a scrap of land, were able to attend. To one side was her loving family. Sweet Myrcella, returned from that savage and disgusting realm of Sand and Sin; she'd ordered it turned to glass, her soldiers doing what Aegon the Dragon could not. Little Tommen who would always be her precious baby, ready to come when she called but not too needful that he distracted her from important matters. To the other were her allies, those that had proven themselves utterly devoted and loyal to her. Admittedly they weren't numerous in number but that was good… she didn't need false friends.
And before her, kneeling on the ground, heads lowered in shame or looking at her with tear stained eyes, were her enemies.
Varys, that cockless wonder. He whimpered and blubbered, leaving the floor drenched in his tears. That whore Jane Seaworth, who had already been lashed a thousand times for tricking Robert into striking her sweet Joffrey. Renly and Stannis, stripped naked so she might decide where to stab them first. The entire Stark Family, from dour Eddard to their mewling babe Ronald (or was it Richie? Renard?) all ready to have their heads placed on spikes.
And finally Tyrion… Tyrion.
Cersei smiled as she got up from the Iron Throne, taking a moment to marvel over her new form. Qyburn had done the impossible and managed to improve upon perfection. The golden body that was now her's was as sleek as silk and stronger that Valyrian Steel. There was no need to clothe herself as she marched towards the little stunted monster, as that would only hide her beauty. She wanted everyone in attendance to see the hand made curves and lines that took her human body's brilliant radiance and made them shine all the brighter. The only one that came close to rivaling her was Jaime, returned to her and in the armor of Maegor, silver to her gold. He stood dutifully, as he should, at the throne, ready to protect her though that wasn't needed at all. She was eternal. All powerful. And as she wrapped her hands around her brother's throat, taking the prophecy and twisting it so that it was now her who strangled the life out of him, she felt-
The world began to fade into nothingness and Cersei struggled to cling to the dream. But her awakening was too subtle and she found herself lying in her bed, trying to determine just what had happened, what she had been dreaming about before she'd been rudely awakened. With an annoyed huff she slowly got out of bed, pushing the silk sheets away from her before she slipped into a robe, looking about for one of her maids to help her deal with… what had awakened her?
She glanced out to see that the sun hadn't even fully risen yet. The horizon was still a dark blackish purple with only a few hints of orange to herald the coming of the day. There were no birds chirping and it had just been cool enough that she hadn't needed to open her windows, which was always an issue because while it brought in a cool breeze it also could bring the stink of the Blackwater and the sounds of life down in the city. Why couldn't the people of King's Landing remain quiet?! She had suggested more than once a curfew, to make sure that people were in bed at a proper hour and not out and about during the darkness of night. She'd most recently argued it with her father who had scoffed at it.
'Who cares if it affects the fishermen?' she thought to herself. 'Do the fish not bite when the sun rises? And can't the bakers find a way to make bread a bit quicker? The cooks in the Red Keep are able to make my breakfast in mere minutes!'
But no, her father had denied her that. As he did so many other things. A bothersome, loathsome man who believed he had far more power than he did.
'Hand of the King…' she thought with a huff. 'A title given and a title easily taken. Queen… that is where the power truly lies! I was born a queen! No one gave the title to me!' It didn't matter to her that she hadn't actually been born a queen… she had known she was destined to be one. Like the honeybee who was born destined to leave the hive and become queen of her own swarm so too had Cersei always known that one day she would leave Casterly Rock and become Queen.
And where were her loyal drones?
Finally annoyed enough to actually leave her bedroom she entered the dressing chamber wearing only in her robe to find her maids huddled together, quiet and still and looking utterly terrified. That… confused her. Oh, she didn't mind that they were cringing at the sight of her… that was a show of respect, and understanding of her power. But why so quiet? What had triggered those emotions in them?
Seeing that none of them were answering Cersei cast her gaze upon them all before settling on one. "Symone," she said, pointing to the eldest of the maids. She was from the Westerlands but somewhere in her family history a forefather had married one of the Stony Dornish and thus she had skin a touch too dark and eyes a bit too smoky to be considered a true Westerlander. Still, she was quiet and quick, knowing when the speak and when to shut up. She never questioned an order and was fast to see to Cersei's needs. "Why are you all in here? I was awoken suddenly and I thought it was one of you but you are too quiet." She forced herself to smile, knowing that would comfort the women, reaching out to stroke Symone's cheek… though she did let her nails scrape against her skin, as a reminder that a lion might have a fluffy mane but also sharp claws. "What is going on?"
"You were… awoken by the bells, I think, your grace," Symone said.
"The bells?"
"They have been ringing every 15 minutes."
"Why would the bells ring like that?" Cersei asked, confused. They had last done that when Joffrey had been killed, and to honor Jaime before that. Even Robert had gotten bells rung all day, every 15 minutes, though Cersei had tried to prevent it. They only…
Her eyes went wide.
"Tommen," she whispered, a cold hand gripping her heart. Tyrion… she had dreamed of Tyrion. She knew it. She couldn't remember what the dream had been about but she knew that little sinful monster had been a part of it. 'It was a warning!' she thought madly as she moved to rush out of the room, throat burning. 'He killed Joffrey… he was Littlefinger's ally, I just know it! And now he's killed Tommen! Taken him from me! I must-'
Someone grabbed her and caused her to jerk forward and Cersei, in her grief and rage, lashed out to backhand them only to strike… nothing. She blinked for a moment before she realized, to her shame, that she'd forgotten to put on her gilded hand. The stump taunted her, mocked her suffering. A reminder of how she'd failed to save her sweet boy from the Iron Man's attack.
"Your grace!" Symone exclaimed, giving her a shake. "King Tommen is safe!"
Cersei blinked.
"Tommen?" she said, hating how stupid is sounded and felt.
Symone though nodded, a soft smile on her lips, barely there but detectable. "He is safe. Surrounded by the King's Guard and castle soldiers."
'So was Joffrey,' a dark voice whispered in her mind. But she shoved it aside. Her last son was safe. But why the bells… "Myrcella?"
"They do not ring for her," Symone assured her.
"Then… then why do they ring?" She shoved Symone away, forcing her heart to slow as she struggled to regain her composure. In her frantic state her robe had come undone, one pale breast slipping out, and she hurriedly wrapped herself up again in the silk; it was her armor. Her protection. "Why do they ring the bells?" she demanded.
"Your father, your grace," Symone said, shattering all Cersei thought she knew of the world, "he is dead."
~MC~MC~MC~
"Show me."
Pycelle looked at her nervously, wringing his hands together. "Please, I must-"
"Your grace," she snapped, glaring at the old man. She had thought that Pycelle had learned a bit of humility from her brother, when he had cut his beard and tossed him in the black cells for… well, she wasn't exactly for sure what the Maester had done. But it seemed that once more Tyrion had proven a failure as the odious old man had decided not to give her the respect she deserved. "You have made your complaints known, Grand Maester, and they are disregarded." She took a step forward towards the table and the large linen cloth that covered it. "I will see my father."
"Your grace," he protested, "this is not something anyone should see."
"Would you have shown Robert? My father?"
"No," Pycelle stated.
That… gave her pause.
"You would have denied Tywin Lannister?"
"In this… yes, I would have. I would have begged him, as I beg you now, to allow yourself to remember him as he was and not as he ended up-"
Qyburn cut Pycelle off. "What that tells me is you have a weak stomach, Grand Maester."
Pycelle glared at the man with dyed blue skin and burning crimson eyes. "You are not welcome here!"
"It is you who is not welcomed here, Grand Maester, if you refuse to do as your queen demands." She glowered at him but when he made no move to remove the cloth she waved towards the door. "Leave us. Go join Varys and the others who have no cocks."
Pycelle murmured something, she couldn't tell what, before hobbling out of the door, leaving only her and Qyburn in the Grand Maester's chambers. They stank of roots, dirt, and raven droppings. Blood too, both new and old. She could see buckets off to the side that were crusted over with brownish fluids and tools left in a wash bin whose water had turned muddy from whatever liquids had been on the knives and other instruments.
"May I?" Qyburn asked, moving towards the cloth.
"You may," she said as she steeled herself to see her father's corpse.
Instead she was greeted to the sight of ground up muscle, shattered bone, and burst organs.
Cersei turned and wretched upon the floor.
"It is an interesting thing, is it not?" she heard Qyburn say even as she gagged. "The human body. It can take such punishment. A woman can push a child from her nethers so large that it seems impossible. A man can have a limb torn off at the root and find the willpower to keep fighting. A sword blow to one part of the body is lethal but move the strike an inch up or down and it can be shrugged off. And… for all our strength… if one allows a body to fall from a great enough height…" He chuckled. "Did you ever smash beetles as a child?"
"Cover it," Cersei commanded, not turning towards Qyburn. She ran her hand along the back of her mouth, spitting more stomach acid upon the floor. After a moment the old man had moved towards her, offering her a cup of water to wash her mouth out. She took it and drank just enough to swish it about before spitting it onto the floor next to the contents of her stomach. "We can not present that to the people," she said firmly, slowly standing back up. She looked down at her hand, seeing it trembling slightly, and slowly pressed it to her side; it was perhaps the only time in her entire life she was glad for her false hand. That was steady. Strong. Unyielding.
As she needed to be.
"I have some options, your grace," Qyburn informed her. "I can present you a body that resembles your father closely enough that the smallfolk will not know. It will also eliminate the rumors of the manner of his death."
"See that they do," Cersei said firmly, not wanting to know just what Qyburn would do. She didn't need to know how her lamb was butchered and she didn't need to know what the disgraced maester would be able to create. "The rest can be shipped back to Casterly Rock."
"If… I might make a suggestion?" Qyburn said, walking up to her, careful not to get too close but just near enough that he could drop his voice to a whisper. "Send the bones back to the Westerlands, of course. Your father deserves as much. But the rest of him… that is always disposed of. The Silent Sisters, when they clean the bones of the dead, have found-"
"I do not need to know what they do with the rest of the corpse," Cersei snapped.
"Of course, of course," Qyburn said quickly. "But… my work could benefit in the examination…"
Cersei fought back a shudder at just what the man was implying. It was ghastly and vile and wrong. He was discussing using her father's flesh, his blood, his splattered organs, in his strange and obscene experiments.
'And yet…' Cersei thought to herself, standing in the doorway of Pycelle's quarters, Qyburn waiting patiently for her answer, '…is it not father himself who bemoaned waste? Always counting stags and dragons, always worrying about how to fund the realm. He would bemoan waste and how people did not try and get all they could out of this thing or that. It was… tiresome.' But it also made her think it might be fitting for her father's remains to actually serve one more purpose. 'Especially if it leads to Jaime's return.'
"You may have all you desire, so long as the bones are returned to the Westerlands."
"I will personally clean and polish them myself, your grace," Qyburn said.
"How goes your work with the armor?" she asked as she moved out of the room, trusting the disgraced maester to follow in her wake.
"I near completion. The secrets of Ultron are nearly mine and when they are fully understood we will begin."
"And you can duplicate the process?" Cersei asked.
"I believe so, yes," Qyburn said. "I will need to run some tests… do not worry, I won't use armor like Ultron's for that! Cheap iron will do. Something breakable." He smiled. "It is always good to have a failsafe when you are experimenting… you never know when you might create a monster."
"I suppose," Cersei said, utterly bored by the change in topics.
"Have you given any more thought on Joffrey?"
"Pardon?"
"Your son-"
"I know who Joffrey is, you twit!" Cersei snapped, wheeling around and jabbing a finger at Qyburn.
The blue skinned man merely bowed his head. "Of course, of course. I merely wondered if you had given any thought to him and his soul."
"I am not in the mood for your riddles. Out with what you wish to say."
"Only that once I have placed you and your brother in your new forms we can look towards your family. Joffrey, your father…"
Cersei stopped, considering that. She truly hadn't gotten too far in thinking about just what she would do once her and Jaime were reunited. Honestly she tended to stall out after 'mind blowing sex' and 'rule Westeros for eternity'. But bringing back Joffrey…
'We could raise him properly,' she thought to herself. 'Remove Robert's taint from him.' All that had gone wrong with her son, all his faults, could be traced back to having Robert in his life. His anger, his disrespect for her, his greed… those were all Robert's traits. With her and Jaime raising their son as he should be raised they could mold him into a proper little prince. 'But only a prince,' Cersei thought. 'There is no need for an heir… not when I will be deathless.'
Out loud Cersei stated, "We will think on that when we have proven that you can achieve all you promise."
Qyburn nodded and bowed, hurrying back to Pycelle's quarters to continue doing whatever it was he wished to achieve with her father's remains. Cersei, for her part, strolled down the hall until she encountered Ser Balon Swann, one of the newest members of the Kingsguard, waiting for her at the end of the hall. Good… she liked it when the servants were ready for her commands.
"We must call a meeting of the Small Council," Cersei said as she strolled past him, the knight at once moving to follow her. "With my father dead Tommen finds himself without a Hand. That will need to be taken care of." Preferably with one that she controlled. "We must also officially name me regent," she continued. "We were delayed with Joffrey's funeral but now we should correct that mistake. Once done we will need to look at the other members of the Small Council… Littlefinger proved that not all were up to the task."
Jon Stark would be tossed into a Black Cell. His blood was that of traitors and her father had been a fool to allow him to roam about. Oberyn Martell would also be held, though in his quarters, to be ransomed off for Myrcella. As for Natasha Stark she would remain at the Red Keep… when Cersei got Tommen to take Jon's head she would be a widow and it would be easy enough to marry her to a loyal Westerland knight… one of low rank but who had proven themselves faithful to her family. Varys would be gone as his whispers and rumors had proven weak as of late. And the Tyrells… well, the marriage to Joffrey had been done and in Cersei's opinion that was all they deserved. Her father had been mad to marry Tommen to the Highgarden Whore. They had come and saved their king… they would get thanks and that was all. One didn't wed their dog to their daughter because it barked at a thief! Besides Tommen was a little boy… he shouldn't be marrying! And he wouldn't ever be king. He was merely a placeholder until she and Jaime were given the power to take Westeros. He would give up his crown to her and become her sweet little boy, forever young and innocent, doing what mommy said.
No… she would remake the Small Council. See it filled with those that saw how Westeros should be. Help her bring about a new age, a better age. Readying the Seven Kingdoms for her and Jaime's rule. Install men to lead the war who had the guts to actually take the North. Crush the Stormlands entirely. Burn the Riverlands and salt the earth of the Reach if they whined about not getting enough.
And it all started now.
"Your grace," Ser Balon said, "the Small Council has been called."
"Good," Cersei said with a smug smile. "Well done, Ser Balon."
"You misunderstand," he continued. "Your son has summoned you, the Small Council, and the entire court to the Throne Room."
"He… what?" Cersei said, nearly stumbling.
"He has-"
"I heard you!" Cersei snapped. "By what authority does that wretched child have to summon me!" She turned, glaring at Ser Balon…
…only to stop when she saw he had pulled his sword an inch from its scabbard.
"You… you dare…" she snarled. "You serve me! Cut your own throat!"
But Ser Balon merely stared her down. "I am the Kingsguard… not the Queen's guard." He took a step forward and Cersei, even with her anger, took a stumbling step back. "Your grace… we must hurry if we are to arrive in time."
Cersei stared at him for a long moment and for a mad second thought of lashing out at him. But then she turned on her heels and marched forward, head held high. She wouldn't let any in the castle think she was being forced to do anything she didn't want to do… no. No, they would see her as regal.
And when she saw Tommen she would straighten this mess out.
'And we will need to add finding a new member of the Kingsguard to my list,' she added mentally.
It took twenty minutes to get into the throne room and when she arrived she scowled when none bowed to her presence. Instead they were all focused on the front of the room, towards the great monster that was the Iron Throne.
'Not that it's all that impressive,' Cersei thought to herself. 'When I merely served in the court the Iron Throne was surrounded by blades on all the steps, so that when one approached it they walked through a hallway of blades.' She had seen plenty be terrified of that path but she hadn't ever been; Aerys had even commented once that she was bolder than some of his Kingsguard. And why shouldn't she have been? The seat was meant for her so why should she fear it?
But Robert had demanded the swords be torn away, leaving only the Iron Throne itself. And while Pycelle had muttered about how there was precedence, as the Old King had seen the great base of the Iron Throne, which had also been made entirely of swords including the steps, be removed so he might be 'closer to the people' (which just went to show that his title of 'The Wise' was a lie) Cersei had always hated Robert for such weakness. The Iron Throne should have frightened the masses into submitting. Just as a king should frighten them.
Or a queen.
The crowd at least moved for her as she walked forward but they weren't quick enough for her liking. They should have at once moved as one, creating a great path for her to trod. Instead she had to weave her away around them, their movements clumsy and independent of each other. The Court was supposed to be of ONE mind. ONE thought. They served her, damn it! She was the queen! But no… she had to twist about the room, unable to go in a regal straight line to the throne, smelling a hundred different perfumes that the ladies used to cover up their body odor from the heat of the city and being in a crush of people.
She finally arrived at the front of the room and made her way at once to the table that had been set up for the Small Council. Mace Tyrell was there, looking rather sad but she didn't buy his sorrow for a second. He was thrilled her father was gone as he clearly would have thought that meant his ability to rule had increased. Cersei would enjoy showing him the error of those thoughts. Namor was cold, his face set in a scowl, looking utterly bored. It was the same with Oberyn Martell even if his body posture was the opposite, being lax and slouched where Namor was rigid. Pycelle was ready with quill and ink to begin writing whatever was said while Varys was looking about, most likely to catch the eyes of his spies that were littered through the room. Cersei tried to spot them herself but it was hard to tell who he was studying because they were a spy and who was a target. Jiffsun was standing at attention despite being allowed a seat at the table and Cersei nodding mentally to herself; good, he understood his position. Despite his dark skin and foreign ways she was leaning towards keeping the man on the Small Council. She could bend him to her will; she'd heard that the men of the Summer Isles hungered for fair skinned women and if the legends of their larger than normal members were true then it might prove fruitful for her to… discuss things with him in a more intimate setting.
And finally there was the bastard, Jon Stark. She supposed that was the one good thing about this foolish meeting Tommen had called; once he was done declaring her father to be dead Cersei could make her first act as regent be the bastard's arrest. Oberyn wouldn't act with so many people around and the Gold Cloaks and the Kingsguard would ensure that the young man was taken. Then she would slay his guard… many of the soldiers still remembered how easy it had been to shatter Ned Stark's household so they could do it again with Jon's.
Yes… things would finally begin to fall into place at last. The world righted.
'After they are captured I will gather the funds needed to hunt down Tyrion. He will be brought back from Essos in chains and presented to the court to answer for his crimes.' She knew that he had been working with Baelish, she just knew it. He had somehow gotten that little weasel to kill her precious Joffrey and he would suffer for that. 'I will make his suffering the things of legend,' she thought to herself as she settled herself at the table.
"Your grace," Mace said.
"Who called this meeting?" Cersei demanded.
"His grace King Tommen did," Varys replied. "When he was informed of Lord Tywin's death-"
"And WHY was Tommen informed in the first place?" Cersei demanded. "He is a little boy… he should not be hearing of such ghastly things!"
"He is the king of the Seven Kingdoms and his Hand just died," Namor said, dark eyes sliding towards her in a show of defiance. "His reign will be one of misery if you keep him hidden behind your dress."
Oberyn shrugged at that. "Perhaps her grace thinks he will come to the Iron Throne with mother's milk still on his lips."
"Lord Tywin's death wasn't something easily hid, your grace. He leapt from his window to the courtyard below. His grace was down there training and while attempts were made to shield him from it he is not stupid… he knows what happened."
Cersei scowled at that, opening her mouth to demand all three men either show her the respect she deserved, only for the Court Cryer to call for attention. All rose and after a moment Cersei did as well, annoyed that the man hadn't announced her presence when she'd arrived at the court. Yes yes, Tommen was king… but she was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Tommen was a babe in fine clothing, nothing more. She was the one that would be making the laws, overseeing the lands, building a dynasty.
'Especially once Qyburn has completed his work…'
Tommen entered the room dressed still in his mourning blacks, the small crown that his grandfather had commissioned for him placed on his golden curls. Her sweet little baby… trying so hard to look grown up. But Cersei knew… he was just her cuddly little boy who shied away from crowds and preferred cuddling his kitties.
Though… as she looked at him… she saw that he was looking a bit thinner. And he walked with confidence. She was reminded for a moment of Joffrey and that made her heart clench; Tommen was no Joffrey. Could not replace her brilliant golden child. Her first born. Her masterpiece. He was just a soft spare that should have never been put in this position.
Tommen walked with the Summer Islander, Sam, just behind him, the man's feathered cloak at least changed from crimson to black. Sam settled at the base of the throne while Tommen carefully moved up two of the steps, not actually sitting on the throne but being closest to it.
Cersei took a step forward, ready to be at his side while her poor boy did what he didn't need to do (she would have been more than happy to announce her father's death for Tommen… and for more than one reason) but then he opened his mouth and spoke.
"I will not waste time. My grandfather hated that." He swallowed and for a moment Cersei was SURE he was going to burst into tears but then Tommen marshaled himself and she felt pride at how strong and sure he was acting. "Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King… is dead."
The crowd murmured at that. No gasps but Cersei supposed they'd all heard. Tywin Lannister committing suicide… that would be spoke of from the Red Keep to the Sunset Sea in the span of a day. It was madness and Cersei was sure it was another plot by Tyrion-
"But my grandfather wouldn't want us to linger on our sadness. He… he would want us to move on. To rule. That was important to him: that Westeros prosper." Tommen took a breath. "I will never forget him… but we can not linger. There will be three days of mourning and then we will work to end this war and bring peace at last to Westeros."
The crowd cheered at that and Cersei, sensing it was her time, began to walk towards Tommen, to take over with the proclamations.
But Tommen held up a hand and all quieted, Cersei herself stopping, waiting for him to introduce her.
"The Small Council has been rendered even smaller by recent events. That I must correct. I call upon my goodfather, Mace Tyrell."
Cersei's heart clenched.
'No… no no no,' she mentally pleaded. 'Tell me those Tyrell bastards didn't get their claws in my baby!'
"You have done well as Master of Ships. I thank you for your service. But I have a new task for you." Mace puffed up and Cersei watched it all with mounting horror. "The Reach is known for the peace it has seen these last few years. I ask you bring your skill and knowledge to all of Westeros. I name you Master of Laws."
Cersei let out a sigh while Mace deflated a touch. 'Oh… oh thank you!' Cersei thought in relief. She wasn't pleased that the Tyrells had ANY position on the small council but Master of Law? That she could deal with. That she could manage. That-
"My grandfather told me the day before he died how he regretted the breakdown of the Great Houses. How friendships had been forgotten and tossed aside. How he hoped my reign would reforge them." Tommen licked his lips; Cersei had never heard him talk this much before. "My father and Eddard Stark were like brothers and my father's death drove Lord Stark to madness, shattering that bond. I… will reforge it."
Tommen turned… to the bastard.
"Jon Stark."
Cersei felt the world crumbling under her feet as the dark haired man stood and walked to Tommen, who motioned for him to kneel.
"Jon Stark, Heir of Iron Pointe. You have proven you are not your father's son. You are your own. Honorable. Faithful. Loyal to the Realm."
Everything was growing dark around Cersei, all color bleeding away.
"Jon Stark… I name you Hand of the King and my regent."
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes: So welcome to Cersei's No Good, Very Bad, Horrible Day!
So the reason why this chapter exists was that I realized I'd kind of painted myself into a corner. Jon wants to leave King's Landing. It is now insanely DANGEROUS for him to be in King's Landing without Tywin there to protect him. But… I couldn't have him leave just yet. I had considered having him head off right away, gathering the Spiders and Sam (Wilson, not Tarly as he's with Tyrion and not Gamgee because that is an entirely different fanfic and has anyone done a story where the Frodo and the elves end up going in the wrong direction and end up in Westeros?). The problems were two fold. First Miles' dad would be hard to convince to go and second that would have made them wanted criminals by Cersei and I wasn't interested in telling that story.
How to get them to stay? Give Jon absolutely power.
Something he doesn't want at all.
As was mentioned during the live read of this chapter over on my discord Jon is going right now "No. Please god no. No. No. …noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
We are only two chapters away from finishing out A Shield of Man folks! Next up is a double POV with Jeor and Robb, and finally Qyburn joins the POV rotation with his chapter.
All leading up the Book 4- A Web of Lies, coming out in May!