Cersei was sick of needlework, sick of septas and sick of the imp. Upon her return to Casterly Rock, her Father cast her aside. He refused to speak to her, not that he had spoken to her much at all at King's Landing. She wished to make good of her time with her father, to learn the military strategy and prowess he prided himself on. She would need that when she was queen. It was only a matter of time before the Dornish whore would die in childbed. There had been whispers at the red keep of how she had suffered immensely during her pregnancy and barely survived the birth. The odds were against her, especially if she were to be with child once more.
She would kill them. She didn't know how or when but she would have Elia Martell's children slaughtered. The Stark girl too.

The Septas at Casterly Rock were so annoying too. Cersei had herself locked in all morning and they wouldn't stop knocking and asking her to come work on her needlework. To the seven hells with needlework! Cersei sat in the chair next to her window, the teal waves smash and crash upon the rocks below, listening to their soothing whispers. A fresh wind of breezy salt filled her every time she woke. It was rejuvenating and glorious. It was never like this at King's Landing. Cersei often thought of the Lannisters who had won this keep with their trickery and the men who came before them, who carved their homes into the rock like a sculptor to his clay. She thought Casterly and Lannisport were more extravagant and noble than the Red Keep and King's Landing. The Westerlands were fit for kings, fit for Cersei, definitely not the murderous little creature that lurked around swinging his swords and enthusing about dragons and old Valyria. She felt sick to her stomach every time she laid eyes upon the kinslayer. He doesn't deserve to bear the Lannister name nor walk our lands, she thought, Father hates him and yet he not only lets him live but lets him learn and thrive. Why?

"Your father wishes to see you, my lady," The voice was a sweet one, not raspy and decrepit like the wrinkled old cunts that kept bothering her. Cersei felt her neck crack when she snapped her head to look at the wide set of double oak doors. She had put a chair underneath the golden door knobs to keep the Septas out earlier.

Cersei emerged from her chair, standing on wobbly legs from being lazy today and moved the chair from the doors, casting it aside. When she opened the door she was met with the face of a young maid. She must have been new. Her face was unfamiliar, although it was as plain and ugly as any servant girl would be. Her face was round and plump, probably from snacking on too many kitchen leftovers. It was red too, her forehead glistening in the natural light where it met her hairline. The girl must've been running around all day, looking after Tyrion and tending to Aunt Genna. I would throw myself into the sea if I were her.

"My lady?" The maid asked, her warm dimples deepening, must having noticed her superior spacing out.

"Yes. What is it?" Cersei, regarded the girl. She must not let her see her vulnerability like this. How lonely she had been these past few years locked up in the tower of the hand.

"Your father wishes to see you."

"Yes. I know, I heard you the first time." Cersei snapped, and saw the maid flinch her brows furrowing and her eyes immediately glazing over. "Just… wait here while I dress."

Cersei withdrew from where she was standing at the door. Cersei hadn't dressed herself all morning, knowing she would not be doing needlework. She could not stand it any longer. She gazed at the glassless windows next to where she had watched the waves. It must be noon by now. It was rather lonesome she admitted to herself, just being in her chambers herself watching the tide but she was used to it. She dressed herself in a soft light green gown. It was flowy and trimmed with Myrish lace. It hugged her shape perfectly. This one she had received as a gift for her fifteenth nameday and it still fit her.

—-

Father's study. It was a place she was forbidden to go as a child. The doors were plain and dark oak. Not a caramel brown nor engraved with lion sigils like the bedchamber doors in Casterly room was a shadow in her mind. The way she had creeped outside it, listening to father educate Jaime and Uncle Kevan educate Tyrion. Even Tyrion, the imp, the little monster that tore her mother into pieces was allowed in this place forbidden to little girls.

Her heart raced as she knocked on the door then heard that familiar southron accent mumble "Come in."

She twisted the golden knob then stepped into the room. It was smaller than she expected. As a child, she imagined Father's study to be as big as the citadel. Bookshelves lined the wall like in her daydreams. Then she spotted her father seated at his book swarmed desk near the window, looking down at a piece of paper. He had started to bald, she noticed his once golden mane darkening and receding.

"Father. You wished to see me?" She asked quietly at first then clearing her throat. She was not a foolish young girl anymore. She was a woman, a lioness. She could do this.
Her father looked up. Even when he was not irritated Lord Tywin's stare had always been icy. His eyes were green in truth, flecked with gold. A common Lannister trait. But Cersei had always seen them as blue as the sea foam the waves left upon the rocks below them. Or sometimes as black as the Targaryen's banner field, when he was angry.

"Yes," he said, his eyes dropping back to his desks and gathering the scrolls and papers to the side. "Take a seat." He nodded to the armchair in front of his desk, the red one with the golden arms.

Cersei sat down, folding her hands in her lap silently, waiting for her father's announcement. She had expected him to tell her off about the Septa situation at first when she was walking to the study, but she doubted that since her father had never cared much for Septas, let alone the Seven. She now expected him to tell her of a less important but more personal matter, something like a renovation done to Casterly Rock or that he would be taking a trip to Harrenhal or Riverrun. Last but not least, she hoped that Elia Martell was sick or had died and that she would finally be Queen. Nothing could prepare her for the announcement her father made.

"You are to marry Brandon Stark."

Cersei paused. Surely she had heard her father wrong! Brandon… Stark… the wild wolf… the heir to Winterfell. Rage gathered in the pit of her stomach. She shot up like an arrow, staring down at her Father. "Father, You promised me I would be queen!"
Tywin raised one dark blonde brow at his daughter's new stance then scoffed. "You are still desperate over children's fantasies?"

Cersei's cheeks heated at this, meekly shrinking in on herself but remaining where she was. She looked down at her nails digging in and picking at her father's desk. Rhaegar Targaryen was all she ever wanted from the time he offered her a white rose at her father's tourney when Prince Viserys was born. Cersei went to check on him after he lost to Ser Arthur Dayne. He gave her a warm smile and thanked her for her kindness. He played his harp for her that night at the feast, bringing tears to her eyes and gave her a bouquet of forget-me-nots. She never saw him give any other girl or lady flowers or that type of attention during his time at Lannisport. He brung those flowers from the reach just for me! When Cersei learned that Rhaegar had done the same thing for the then thirteen-year-old Lyanna Stark just the year prior. She had refused to believe such a thing. From what was rumored, Lyanna was nothing like Cersei. She was a boyish maid who swung swords and rode horses all over the north like an aspiring Visenya Targaryen. And now the little wench is to be my good-sister. How 'wonderful'.

Looking up from her hands, Cersei met Tywin's eyes again but looked down once more. She could not bear to look at her Father when he looked like he was both disappointed in her and that he pitied her.
"And you will be queen," Tywin explained calmly, "Queen in the North."

Cersei's head snapped up. Queen in the North? "Father, I don't understand." She said quietly.

"There was a time before the Targaryens and there will be a time after them. Do you understand? The blood of the Andals, and The First Men run deeper than the dragon's. Do you remember nothing from your education?"

Although she was withheld from the political and military education her brother's received. She did receive a basic knowledge of the realm, taught by her Aunt Genna and various Septas. She did not listen to the Septas, she never did. She mostly knew history from listening into Tywin grooming Jaime, lessons with the maesters when she pretended to be him. She had always hated maesters. Volarik and Pycelle both. Their hands were eerily softer than most men's… crawling and slinking over her skin…

"Father! what you speak of is treason!" Cersei hissed, looking around for spies. This was the west, but the dragon's spies were everywhere.

"It is true," he said, sitting back confident in his analysis. "The king is spiraling into delusion. The prince is obsessing over prophecies. The Baratheons, although a strong house with dragon's blood and strong seed, do not seem promising either."

Brandon came to her thoughts once more. She remembered his betrothal to the Tully girl was announced at the tourney. "Brandon Stark is betrothed to Catelyn Tully. I can't marry him." She fought a smirk tugging at her upper lip.

"I have decided to marry Lady Tully."

Cersei's heart sank. No. It could not be. Father could not marry again. She could be his heir… he didn't need to…
"You love mother… How could you?" Cersei felt her eyes sting, sitting down in the red armchair and looking down at her hands. There was blood seeping from one finger, she must've scratched it or caught a splinter.

"Enough of this, Cersei." Tywin growled, "I will marry Catelyn Tully and you will marry Brandon Stark. This is purely for political purposes, love has nothing to do with it." He sneered at the word 'love' like he did when he said the words 'the king' or 'Tyrion'.

They were silent for a few moments. Both father and daughter regarding the other silently. When Cersei spoke first, it came out louder and harsher. More brazen than she intended. "It is cold in the north. And winter has come. It will only get colder from here. They worship nature gods and the northmen are so loud and crass… I heard them at court…"

Tywin chuckled sharply. It was not his real laugh. He shook his head. "All you can think about is yourself, can't you? After all I've done for you, you really are just a spoiled little girl."

"I don't want to…" Cersei said, flushed and whimpering. Don't cry. Don't cry. Gods, you're pathetic. A pathetic emotional woman. Jaime wouldn't cry. "Please father, don't make me."

"It doesn't matter what you want," Tywin seethed, "What matters is that you are my daughter. You will do as I say. You are mine to give to whoever I want. You need to understand your place in this world. I understand mine."

"As you wish, my lord…"

—

Cersei left her father's study on shaky legs. She only made it halfway down the corridor before her legs gave in and she broke down on the floor, hot tears streaming down her face. How dare he! Cersei Lannister was a lady, a lioness of the rock. How dare he think to sell her to a Northman like a common mare. She had never seen the north in her lifetime and the last winter she had witnessed cast only a light coat of snow and ice over the land and waters of the Westerlands.
She remembered that Jaime had snuck out a book of Father's study once to read with Cersei. They had both curled up in bed together, next to candlelight reading of the scary tales from the North like children of the forest and wildlings that ate their own young. Cersei begged Jaime to stay in her bed that night and elbowed him when he laughed at her flinching and clutching to him with every strange sound from outside.

When she heard heels clacking on the heavy wooden floors, Cersei hurried to rise. She brushed off her sage skirts and looked to see her aunt Genna approaching her father's doors. Genna stilled when she saw her niece, her expression softening. She stepped towards the crying girl and cupped her cheek, "Oh child. What is the matter?"

Aunt Genna's hand was frozen against Cersei's warm cheek. Cersei tried to explain what was happening but only a whimper escaped her tight throat. The tears came again and Genna tsked and pulled her niece to her chest, wrapping her in her red velvet clothed arms. It felt safe in her aunt's arms, as it had always had. Lady Genna was a Frey by marriage but spent most of her time at Casterly Rock, bringing her little boys too. Cersei despised septas but she loved her aunt Genna, the most respectable woman she knew. She was not a blushing maiden, nor did she pretend to be. She was honest in her courtesies, letting every bit of Lannister show.

She pulled away and brushed the tight curls away from her niece's face, "now tell me what happened, child. Is it your father? Your brother? Speak it true."

"Father wishes to send me to the north! To be warded by Rickard Stark until I marry his son!" Cersei blurted out, looking up at her aunt with big pleading green eyes.

Genna's eyebrows rose and she nodded and huffed a subtle sort of chuckle. She was silent for a moment then said, "you are old enough to be wed I suppose. You first bled three years back. You'll marry when you're sixteen. I told your father that was the earliest suitable age for a woman to birth a child."

Heat rushed to Cersei's face. How could her aunt defend such a thing? Not be upset by the thought of her niece wedding a savage Northerner!? "But a Stark, dear aunt! The North!"

"Stark is a very noble house, you'll be happy there."

Cersei shot her aunt an unimpressed glance and aunt Genna said more reassuringly, "Winterfell is an impressive keep. Your father and I had the pleasure of visiting for Rickard Stark's wedding. It is warm and will keep you safe."

"How can Northern strangers keep me safe?!" Cersei exclaimed.

Aunt Genna tsked and held Cersei's hands in hers, " I know how you feel. I was once wed to a stranger too. It is the life of a woman, Cersei. We can't change it."

The two Lannister women linked arms and walked together through the hallway. Cersei had grown up knowing the ways of women in this world. It had been instilled in her since she learned how to talk. 'A woman's war is in the birthing bed' her mother had said to her softly after finding her dressed as Jaime and with a sword in her hand. Despite this, Cersei always thought she was different. She always felt she was different. She always thought she would have the luxury of being married to prince. Rhaegar was the son of a man closest to her father, someone he'd grown up with. It wasn't the same as being sold off to the complete other side of the country for a powerful alliance.

They walked in silence to the large oak doors of Cersei's bedroom. Genna slipped her arms out of her nieces and held her hands once again. "I know how daunting and frightening this must be for you. If you have any questions on anything. Don't be afraid to ask me. I've birthed two sons, you know." Cersei couldn't help but laugh with her aunt despite the blush in her cheeks. She wouldn't need to ask her aunt any questions regarding the bedding though. Her maidenhead was long gone.

—

Father didn't join the family for dinner, as she expected. He could not stand to look at either of his children at this time. Cersei could barely stand to look at the Imp either. It wasn't just his ugly gob that opened and chewed relentlessly. It was the searing ache that Cersei felt in her chest whenever she set eyes on the twisted little boy.

Herself, Tyrion, and uncle kevan sat around the large table in the Casterly Rock hall. Usually her other uncles and cousins joined them but she saw them leave earlier with her father, all with bows and spears in hand, little Lancel carrying a wine cask. Aunt Genna ate with her husband and their sons.

The family normally ate in silence until Tyrion wanted to rave about dragons to uncle Kevan. Tonight it was uncle Kevan that spoke first. "Cersei, I heard about your betrothal." He said, pulling the wine cup slowly away from his lips, "Brandon Stark. You'll be leaving us to go north soon, won't you?"

Cersei gritted her teeth, and glared at Tyrion. Her younger brother's eyes glittered as he almost stood up, alert in his chair. "You're going north?"

Cersei was silent for a moment, prodding the salmon around on her plate. She didn't want to deal with this. With him. When she brought her eyes up from her dinner, everyone was staring at her so she assumed she had to answer. "Yes." She said croakily.

"You'll have to tell me all about the wildlings and the white walkers when you come to visit!" He said with a big grin on his face that Cersei wanted to thump.

"Whitewalkers aren't real," Cersei grumbled then saw the hurt on her brother's face and added, "and I won't be visiting. Father doesn't want me now that I'm no longer useful."

"Oh." Tyrion simply said, his eyes glazed over and cast down on his meal.

"I'm sure that's not true." Uncle Kevan said in his best reassuring attempt.

Cersei put her plate to the side. "May I be excused? I'm feeling rather sick this evening." It was no lie. The annoyance of her family as well as the mere thought of her betrothal had made her queasy.

"Of course," her uncle nodded, his lips a thin grimace.

—

As soon as she got to her chambers she sat herself down on the chair next to the window. She searched through her desk for papers and started writing to Jaime. She told him how awful she felt, how much she loved him and how heartbroken she was at the thought of never seeing him again.

She folded the letter up and poured the wax over the place where the ends met, sealing it with the Lannister sigil.

When Cersei woke the next morning at the sound of a stiff knock on her chamber door, that sweet, un-septa-like voice chirping "My lady, are you ready to leave?"

Cersei looked down on herself, she must've forgotten to change out of her evening gown. She got up, her head pounding. With one glance in the mirror beside her wardrobe, she could tell her hair was wild and her curls in all different directions.
Ready to leave? What could the plain maid mean by that? Did father wish to see her again? To discuss her betrothal more?
She opened the door and said, "Excuse me?" Her voice was groggy and the question was a little high pitched at the end.

The maid was wide eyed and she brushed her eyes over Cersei's distressed form, "My lady, are you ready to leave? To travel north?"

Cersei shook her head, and she felt her blood pounding in her ears . "Today?!"