Chapter 29: Cersei IV

Dragonstone is yours.

What a stupid thing to say, Cersei thought as she sat in the throne room, watching Garlan Tyrell kneel before his king, an irrepressible grin tugging at his lips. Dragonstone is yours. Was that something to be proud of? A piddling stone jutting out of the sea? What was that miserable, windswept rock really worth? Robert had won her a whole seven kingdoms. Jaime had won a dozen true battles, and killed a king with a single swipe of his sword.

By what right can a simple rock grant you glory from a king? Cersei wondered, but she held her peace and let Tommen speak all the way till court wound down to a close. Jaime could have taken it half a day.

Nevertheless, Garlan Tyrell got his glory, and his return from his victory at Dragonstone heralded the arrival of a hellish week.

The usual fare of gold and red and black that decked the halls of the Red Keep briefly turned green, in honour of the success. Tommen was keen to emphasise the first true victory of his reign. Red lions became roses. There was merriment in the mud-soaked streets. Margaery and her hens seemed to never stop clucking, chittering and chattering with the kinds of smiles on their faces that made Cersei want to reach over and slap them back and forth across their rosy cheeks till they were all bloody.

I am a queen who has lost her court, Cersei lamented. I have my pride and yet no power. I sit on the small council and say nothing. And day after day, that whore from Highgarden thinks to take a little more of what I have left.

It was becoming increasingly hard to control her irritation as of late, Cersei found. Jaime was gone, despite her best efforts. Osney had disappeared without a trace, and without being able to account for him she could not rest. All he needs do is open his mouth and I'm ruined. Yet he is not entirely necessary. Margaery Tyrell has a great many admirers, any one of which could wind up in her bed. When she prayed, she switched back and forth between praying for his return and praying for proof of his painful demise. Yet, not even his brother Osmund could offer that.

She came upon him in the yard the day after Garlan's return, as he was sparring with the one remaining Redwyne twin. She sat and watched for while, quietly seething, and then called Ser Osmund aside. "Walk with me a bit," she commanded him, and then once they were far enough away from prying ears she continued, "and tell me the truth. Your brother Ser Osney. Where has he gotten to?"

Osmund frowned. "I don't know," he said. "The king told me he had some task for him, and I haven't seen him since."

Cersei stiffened with alarm. "The king?" she asked, feeling her heart briefly seize in her chest. I've been found out. Was it the dreams?

"Aye," Osmund said. "My brother's a good sword. Not as strong as me or Osfryd, but he's quick enough to the kill."

"Yes, yes," Cersei cut him off before he could continue, suddenly uninterested in what he had to say. Then, she said her farewells and left him, scowling all the way back to her chambers. Up the stairs she went, passing through the passages of Maegor's Holdfast at a quick pace. She slowed as she walked past Tommen's solar, but thought better of it at the last second and continued on towards her chambers.

If he will say nought to me then I need not concern myself with confrontation, she told herself. I will meet his silence with silence. He will come to me of his own volition, when he learns what it truly means to rule. He will learn from my example once he sees my hour in the sun.

Inside her chamber, Cersei found none other than Taena, sat talking with Dorcas and Jocelyn. They stood and bowed their heads when she entered, but Cersei did not deign to acknowledge them. Instead she went for the wine, pouring herself a healthy glass and taking a sizeable swig as she sat herself at her table. Unable to stand the looks that timid Jocelyn was shooting Dorcas, Cersei sent the pair of them away to prepare her a bath. After what felt like an entire day in the company of the Tyrells, she felt the sudden urge to purge herself of the lingering stench of the rose perfume they all seemed to wear.

"Is something the matter, Your Grace?" Taena asked once they were alone.

Cersei felt herself flatten in disappointment. "I am sure you already know," she said. "I will not speak of it further."

Taena nodded. "Undeserved praise, I know, but a victory is still a victory, regardless of what soldier did the fighting. The king's commands cannot be ignored."

"What about the queen's commands?" Cersei asked bitterly.

"You need only say the word, Your Grace," Taena said, her head bowed, her lashes fluttering seductively. "My loyalty is to you and to the little king only. I desire only to serve you, however you might require."

Cersei felt a small smile tug on her lips as her mood suddenly went from quietly apoplectic to contemplative. "I would be ever so sad if you ever betrayed my trust, Taena," she purred like a cat. "I would have no choice but to give you to the King's Justice, though you ought to know I would weep all the while."

Taena shook her head, her curly hair bobbing. "I will never give you cause to weep, Your Grace. And I assure you: Any words you share with me will fall on no other ears save my own without your express assent."

Cersei sipped her wine as she listened to the sounds of the bath being filled by buckets in the adjoining room. When the water stopped, and a sweaty Dorcas came in to announce that her bath was ready, Cersei stood from her seat and gestured for Taena to follow. In the adjoining room, Cersei dismissed Jocelyn and Dorcas before she stripped down and slowly immersed herself in the bathwater, her golden tresses floating on the surface, her breasts glistening half with sweat and half with water as steam filled the room. I'm still beautiful, Cersei knew as she saw Taena stare wide-eyed at her in the water. Jaime was a fool to spurn me.

"Come, Taena," Cersei beckoned. "Join me. I require your service."

Taena nodded almost timidly, and then slowly stripped from her dress and gingerly climbed into the steaming water, causing it to rise and spill over the edge of the tub. As she entered, Cersei watched her. The Myrish woman was beautiful; long-legged and full-breasted with smooth skin and ripe nether lips and huge dark nipples. She looked and smelled of sin, though her usually sultry demeanour had shied somewhat now that she was completely exposed.

Robert would have loved her, Cersei thought, if only for an hour. Even still, she would have been one of his finest whores, and had he chosen her I don't doubt she would have been bred a dozen times over and borne him many bastard children by now.

"Tell me, Taena," Cersei began, watching her bare body for even the slightest hint of deception, "have you seen or heard of Ser Osney as of late?"

Taena shook her head slowly, uncertain, her hair becoming wet in the water, her curls softening. "No, Your Grace."

Cersei felt her eyes narrow slightly with suspicion, but even as her gaze flicked up and down Taena sultry curves, she saw no lie. A sudden fury filled her again as she continued watching Taena shift beneath the surface of the bathwater.

"Regarding Lady Margaery..." Taena ventured, breaking the lingering silence. "I believe there may be another way to... undermine her."

Cersei slid one of her feet between Taena's legs to rub her lower lips, and watched as the Myrish woman's mouth opened with surprise, her lashes fluttering in anticipation of further pleasure. Taena slowly splayed her thighs, bit her lip and began gently caressing one of her own breasts, silently begging for one of Cersei's toes to push forwards into her. What a little slut you are, Cersei thought, briefly distracted.

But alas, there would be nought but teasing today, for her plots took priority over her pleasure, no matter how much she enjoyed toying with the Myrish woman.

"Do go on," Cersei urged with a coy smile that promised rewards.

"W-Well, Your Grace," Taena slowly answered, forcing herself back into full awareness, "as I understand it, the Princess Arianne has expressed some significant interest in His Grace. What better way to loosen Lady Margaery's grip in the absence of Ser Osney than to threaten her position at the king's side?"

And hand my son over to that Dornish whore in the process? Cersei thought, suddenly furious as her smile soured into a scowl. She thrust forwards with her foot to elicit a sharp yelp of pain from Taena, demonstrating her dissatisfaction with the suggestion. That princess is far too daring and far too dangerous, Cersei knew. Especially with my Myrcella all alone in Prince Doran's custody, I cannot humble her for fear of retribution. Hells, even Maid Margaery, insufferable as she is, is a better choice.

"No," said Cersei in a tone that that left no room for argument. "I will not pull my son away from one harlot only to push him into the arms of another. And I will not hear of this again, do you understand?"

Taena nodded silently as Cersei let her fury fade and her focus move onto another matter.

It all began with Bronn, Cersei thought, sliding her second foot into the space between Taena's legs. That insolent sellsword allowed my son to see his dreams done.

"Have you heard anything from Stokeworth?" Cersei suddenly asked, still rubbing with the balls of her feet.

"Yes, Your Grace. Lady Lollys birthed a bastard son not long after her wedding, the one she had sired upon her during the riots."

"You mean when she was raped a half-hundred times?" Cersei asked nonchalantly, jabbing forwards with both her feet to elicit another yelp from Taena.

"Yes, Your Grace," Taena said in a shaky voice, seemingly no longer eager to speak on the subject. "Lady Tanda was thrown from her horse as well, it would seem, and shattered a hip. Maester Frenken remains hopeful, but Falyse does not seem to agree in her letters. She begs we pray for her mother."

How awfully convenient for the conniving sellsword, Cersei thought. "Poor dear," Cersei said without a hint of sincerity in her voice. "I will put her in my prayers the next time I visit the sept." Not that it will do much good. She will be dead by the end of the month. Women as old as Tanda Stokeworth do not survive shattered hips. Still, perhaps there is an opening here. If only Falyse could be convinced her mother's tumble was more assassination than accident...

"I am certain Falyse will be overjoyed to hear it," Taena said. "She has written from the road as well, of being accosted by men she described as 'lice-ridden ruffians bearing holy stars and sharpened sticks with evil looks in their eyes.' Falyse is safe, I am certain Your Grace will be relieved to know, and not far from the city now. Her husband warded the men away, but she nonetheless considers the encounter noteworthy."

"More sparrows, no doubt," Cersei said. "They are a pest."

"Yes, Your Grace," Taena readily agreed. "Though mercifully in Kings Landing they are the small in number and shrinking fast, such that they can no longer clog the streets and fill the air with the awful stench of their unwashed bodies."

Cersei nodded, but in her mind another idea intruded. The High Septon is Tyrion's man, she remembered. Hardly a trustworthy man to lead an institution as important as the Faith, even in light of Tyrion's supposed innocence. The sparrows could have proved useful in that regard, but perhaps there is yet another way... Prince Oberyn's niece may have been too powerful to manipulate without fear of consequences, but perhaps his bastards daughters would prove more pliable. The one always in the white would work best with the High Septon, Cersei thought, especially if she is not quite as pure and pious as her manner of dress might suggest.

Cersei leaned back in the tub and sighed, stewing a little while longer in the now-tepid water, her toes working between Taena's legs. She could have stayed here a great deal longer if she so desired - plotting and scheming and pondering possibilities both outlandish and inevitable - but a small council meeting stood between her and rest. As tedious as they typically were, Cersei was determined not to miss a single one, lest she lose what little true power she still possessed.

"I must go," Cersei suddenly declared as she lifted herself from the rapidly-cooling bath. Water ran down her legs in little rivulets and trickled down her hair. "I need to dress for the small council, Taena. Come, dry me and help me don my gown."

Taena practically leapt from the water, and together the pair of them were dressed, though Cersei revelled in seeing Taena's eyes wander as she rubbed her down and helped lace her bejewelled bodice and do her hair up in elegant braids. Her new gown was green, though the emerald of her eyes instead of the earthy tones of the Tyrells, and made of a shimmering silk cut in tight at the waist and over the bust, with black Myrish lace around the hem and neckline. Myrish lace was expensive, but Cersei refused to bow to Tommen's commands to cut spending on such luxuries. It was a necessity for a queen to look her best at all times, after all.

Once she was dressed, Cersei left Taena with a flourish, headed once again for the small council chambers. Through the familiar halls and passages of Maegor's Holdfast she went, all the way to the small council chambers. Upon her arrival she brushed past Ser Osmund and passed through the doors to find her son sat at the head of the table, many of the lords already arrayed around him. Her father had found his place at the foot, a counterbalance to his king. Tyrion had wound up somewhere in the middle, sat between a very jolly-looking Lord Mace and a somewhat less enthusiastic Grandmaester Pycelle.

Cersei found her seat facing in direct opposition to her dwarf brother, shooting him a briefly venomous look before she turned her attention elsewhere.

Arianne, significantly, seemed absent from this particular session. Likely busy trying to bed the returning champion, Cersei thought. Or even better, his sister. She had become irritatingly close with Margaery's hens as of late. Another problem to look out for? It seemed likely. Perhaps there is something to Taena's suggestion, Cersei thought. That Dornish whore is good only for what lies between her legs. Yet if I can turn her lust into leverage...

Lying with a princess could surely be made into as significant a scandal for the young queen as lying with a knight. It would take only a single drunken tryst between the two of them to undermine Tommen's trust in his new wife. And even better, as Arianne was a princess Tommen could hardly make her disappear, as he had seemingly done to Ser Osney.

And with that thought brewing in her mind, the council began in earnest. It started with another unfortunately hearty congratulation of Lord Mace's accursed seed, and Cersei plastered a false smile over her face as she applauded the Fat Flower of Highgarden for his son's victory as he grinned from ear to ear with pride, red-faced from all the wine he had imbibed. Let the fat fool smile, Cersei thought. So long as that's all he's ever able to do.

Next came the issue of the Redwyne fleet, which was resolved swiftly enough.

A part of the fleet would remain at Dragonstone to maintain shipments of dragonglass to the Wall even as Lord Redwyne returned. On this issue Tommen was curiously unwilling to listen to any objections, though Cersei struggled to see the sense in it. Nevertheless, she considered it a non-issue. What use will a few shards of brittle stone do Stannis or that bastard son of Ned Stark? We have the true steel. And all the better if the Reach's strength is divided. It is only right that the crown should control the seas.

And finally there came the issue of the Faith.

The High Septon may have been Tyrion's man, a puppet, but that did not render him immune from the demands of the Most Devout. And the Most Devout would never accept simply forgiving the debts owed to them by the crown. And yet, many casks of wildfire had been found and removed from under the floor of the Great Sept of Baelor. Casks that the crown had kindly seen to the safe disposal of, acting in accordance with it's duty to serve as the protector of the Faith. In a sense, they all owed their lives to the Iron Throne.

And so, with the High Septon warily eyeing the rest of the council, Tommen calmly and politely began backing him into a corner. The High Septon offered wise words and worthless platitudes, but no matter how much he twisted and squirmed and tried to waggle his tongue, he was helpless to escape Tommen's carefully-woven web.

That boy has a way with words beyond me, Cersei thought as she watched him build his argument with an almost enviable effortlessness. I have just saved the city and your sept from the legacy of the last Targaryen king. I am fighting to defend the Faith as the Warrior would have me do, against heathen pretenders who's greatest desires are to destroy you by burning or drowning. I am rebuilding Westeros at the command of the Smith and relieving the poor and the infirm of their burdens at the Mother's behest. All I ask of you is to help me in this. To help me better serve the Seven.

Listening to the way he told his tale, Cersei could almost have believed her son if he had said he was the second coming of Hugor of the Hill.

In the face of all that, how could the High Septon possibly refuse the king's requests? A debt reduction was a tiny price to pay for such a devout king, especially after the Faith had endured a drunkard and a madman.

And so with the High Septon thoroughly convinced, the small council finally drew to a close.

"Dismissed," Tommen said with a lazy wave of his hand, and all the lords arose from their seats and filed from the chamber. Cersei insolently kept her seat, however, and sat and observed her son as he appeared to age before her eyes, the sparkle in his eyes replaced by a solemnity that she remembered seeing only in the eyes of men more than thrice the age of her son. Exhaustion laced his expression.

His dreams are draining the life from him, she thought.

"I said my councillors were all dismissed, Mother. I do believe that includes you as well."

"A mother can't steal a moment to speak with her son?" Cersei asked.

"A mother can," Tommen sighed, looking up from his sheaf of papers and rubbing his eyes and the ever-developing dark circles underneath.

I should ask him about Ser Osney, Cersei thought, yet when she went to open her mouth, something stopped the words in her throat. Instead she asked: "About Dragonstone..."

Tommen groaned with irritation. "I have my reasons," he said. "And I'll brook no more argument on the subject."

"Does this have anything to do with that Doom of Westeros you spoke of?" Cersei asked, feigning concern even as a morbid bemusement tickled her chest.

Tommen smiled and let slip a harsh bark of childish laughter as he leaned back in his seat. "You must think me a fool. Placing so much stock in a few nightmares."

"Not at all," Cersei cut in, thinking of Maggy the Frog. "I know better than most how unsettling such things can be. I just need to know... Why dragonglass? What's so special about that dull black stone?"

Tommen fell silent, observed her with a strange intensity for what felt like an eternity, and then finally shook his head and said: "It's the only thing that kills them that we can control and safely make use of at scale. Valyrian steel works too, but we haven't enough, and whilst wildfire is another choice, I am not yet desperate enough to consider such a dangerous substance. What we dig out of the ground from the Mad King's plan must suffice for now."

Cersei frowned in confusion. "...them?"

"The Others," Tommen said with a wry wave of his hand. "The grumkins and the snarks. The Long Night come again, an endless winter that will kill us all if we are not ready."

"Cribside tales meant to scare disobedient children, surely," Cersei could not help but scoff. "Or at least long-forgotten history."

"Like the dragons slowly growing in the east?" Tommen asked, with a single eyebrow raised. "Like prophetic dreams? How much difference is there really between then and now?" Tommen shrugged. "Regardless, even if the gods are merciful and I am wrong, it still serves as leverage. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch believes the threat lurking beyond the Wall to be true, and so long as I control his supply of dragonglass I can effectively control his behaviour to some degree. All the better that Dragonstone is the seat of Stannis's power. With it gone, any lingering support for Stannis in the Stormlands will shortly fade away."

"Thereby leaving him even more isolated," Cersei surmised.

Tommen nodded. "And once Lord Wyman's newfound loyalty can be assured, and he has delivered all lords east of the Knife, the Boltons will be removed and my hold over the North will be tightened till any lingering traces of treason are completely quashed. And all without a single battle fought or a single one of my soldiers dead. In this way the enemy of my enemy becomes my ally, and Stannis will find himself completely surrounded. An enemy to the north in the Watch, to the east in Lord Wyman, to the west in the Ironborn, to the south in the crown. Perhaps... Perhaps then I can convince him of the error of his ways."

Stannis will change his mind when the deserts of Dorne become freezing marshes, Cersei thought, but kept her peace. Even if Stannis was not truly Tommen's uncle, it made sense for her son not to be too eager to be seen as a kinslayer, though Cersei suspected this was more a matter of being soft-hearted then sensible. "I thought Lord Bolton was our ally," she remarked instead.

"Lord Bolton is as untrustworthy as Walder Frey," Tommen spat. "Why do you think I've resisted any attempt at legitimising his bastard son? If the Boltons sink their claws too deep into the North they will become too powerful to easily dispose of, and if that happens I can promise you they will not stay loyal to the Iron Throne for long. Best to keep them weak and dependent on us for legitimacy till a more appropriately loyal Lord of the North can be located."

"And your dreams tell you all this?" Cersei asked, a lone eyebrow quirked, still sceptical despite the evidence of her eyes and ears.

"My dreams tell me a great deal," Tommen said, rubbing his reddened eyes tiredly, "most of which is meaningless nonsense. But I also do happen to pay attention when people speak up with knowledge or advice, even if I may not always agree. I'm clever enough to seek out and learn what I don't know from my counsellors, which is what allows me to parse through the possibilities I am presented with every time my head touches my pillow."

Cersei observed her son, two equal twinges of pity and pride tugging at her heart. It was clear he was struggling under the burden of the crown, even if he had taken to courtly intrigue like a fish to water. Joff fared better even with war threatening to break through the gates, Cersei remembered. Tommen had never been so hardy.

"What do you see in your dreams?" she asked, intending to lead him with the tone of her voice.

Tommen's eyes sharpened. "Someone's awfully curious today," he noted.

Cersei shrugged and impudently said: "A mother can't ask questions of her son?"

The ghost of a wan smile tugged at Tommen's lips even as his gaze drifted down from her face to her body, eyes so incisive that Cersei felt as though he was gazing straight through the silk of her gown at her naked flesh. "I see too much, Mother. Far, far too much." He stood up from his seat, gathering up the sheaf of papers before him on the table into a bundle in his arms, wandered around the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Yet you mustn't fret," Tommen continued, patting her shoulder. "Ser Osney is not likely to see another summer intact. Your secrets are safe with me so long as from this day forth I can trust your loyalty."

"You can," Cersei hurriedly assured him, pulling him into a tight embrace as she arose from her seat and planted a kiss on the top of his head, even as she felt a spike of annoyance at the tone he had just taken with her. "I acted only with the best of intentions, out of my love for you. I am your mother. I am the only person you can trust."

"Of course!" Tommen agreed, pulling away from her arms, lifting his head from her breast to meet her emerald gaze with his own. "So long as the plots come to a stop."

I feel like with this chapter the story has become a bit bogged down. I'll try and speed things up from here on out.
Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.
Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. Not quite fully happy with this one. May be subject to a rewrite in the future