Wow, another four months since the last update. I'm getting consistent! Anyway, this chapter was brought to you by COVID! Both in the sense that an outbreak at one of my jobs led to me needing to pull extra shifts, slowing down the chapter's progress, and then I caught it, which freed up my schedule to finish the chapter.
I'd like to send a big 'Thank You' to my good buddy, Cachat, for helping me edit this sucker in double time to get it out!
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.
Cersei III
From the day she was born, Cersei had been defined by her beauty.
She came into this world a perfect, golden-haired, green-eyed, rosy-cheeked babe. A lioness, destined to one day grow to be the pride of her bloodline, with her equally perfect twin clutching onto her ankle. Cersei had once heard from an old midwife that daughters began to steal their mothers' beauty in the womb, stealing more and more as they aged. To this day, she wondered if it was true. She had few memories of Joanna Lannister, but the ones she did have were of a woman as beautiful as she was judgmental, judgmental of the truest love Cersei had ever known. Perhaps then it was only fitting that Cersei took and took Joanna's beauty until only her judgment remained?
Alas, Tyrion had stolen their mother's life like the monster he was, leaving Cersei's last memory of the woman being that beautiful corpse surrounded by flowers and gold.
'I wonder, did Mother dying so soon leave the process incomplete?' Cersei wondered as she stared into her vanity mirror. 'Had she lived longer, would I have been able to grow more beautiful than I already was?'
Was.
Cersei's hand tightened around the handle of her gem-encrusted brush, ignored the pain that shot through her arm, and fought the urge to hurl into the mirror. If it shattered, Cersei would no longer be forced to look at what was stolen from her. What Tyrion had stolen from her! Or, rather, the latest in the long line of things her monstrous imp of a brother had stolen from her.
"Burn injuries and the scars that come from them are unique," Qyburn explained, not bothering to look up from the concoction he was creating. "Whereas the wounds that come from a sword or arrow slice the skin or scrape it away, fire can completely kill it. Which is why treating burns is such a complex procedure, and they take so long to heal."
"I did not agree to take you into my service for you to waste my time explaining problems, Qyburn," she said. "You are here to fix them."
The old man chuckled, a warm, kind sounded like it should have been coming from some little girl's favorite grandfather. "Patience, Your Majesty. I can treat your injuries, even minimizing scarring. But it will take time. The burns are still fresh, irritating them will be disastrous."
"So you can do nothing for me?"
"No, I can help you. I can treat your pain and accelerate the healing of your wounds. So long as you allow it."
"I want a number. How long until I start healing?"
The former maester let out a small sigh. "It is hard to estimate these things, though I suspect you will start seeing results in… three weeks or so."
Cersei fought the urge to growl. Patience was never her strong suit. Still, she gave a sharp, unhappy nod, and waved for the man to continue.
"Excellent." The old man's warm eyes twinkled in delight, "Now, please disrobe."
'Typical man, only interested in seeing my tits,' Cersei mentally scoffed. But she wordlessly shucked off her green silk dressing gown, letting it pool at her feet. Removing her wig, so expertly crafted that it was nearly impossible to tell it was fake while Cersei was wearing it. 'Do you like what you see, Qyburn? The duality of my body, half a charred, blistering mess and half the remains of the most beautiful woman in the world.'
"Do you have a preference for where I start?" Qyburn asked, putting the final touches into his concoction before pouring the thick, syrupy mixture into a wooden bowl.
"Do your worst."
Qyburn let out a low hum as he stepped close. Dipping a soft paint brush into the bowl, he started painting the mixture onto one of the burn patches of Cersei's back. The one lowest on her back, she couldn't help but notice.
"Hhhaaaa," she hissed. "I thought you were going to treat my pain! Not cause more of it!"
"Give the medicine time to work," Qyburn replied. "It is of my own creation, a mixture of honey, grease from pig fat, thyme, resin, and bitumen. Together, it will serve to both protect from infection, reduce swelling, and sooth the pain. That, combined with continued milk baths will speed along healing quite effectively."
"Effective is not good enough. I hold those in my confidence to exceedingly high standards, and you should be honored to be given a chance to meet them."
Another chuckle and the man began to coat the burns that stretched the length of Cersei's arm. "Of course, Your Majesty."
The former maester coming into her service had been, in all honesty, a fluke. He'd been in the capital to study some rare anatomy texts in the library when he'd heard of the injuries Tyrion had so cruelly inflicted upon her. Doing his duty as any good servant of the realm ought to, Qyburn had approached Jaime to offer his services when other maesters had insisted there was nothing to be done.
In that first week Cersei had only vague memories of the man. To her, he'd only been a blurry figure that stood above her when she occasionally emerged from a Milk of the Poppy haze to help her drink some water, broth, or more of the painkiller. When she'd finally fully awake, Qyburn had still been there, offering aid with his healing skills and a listening ear. Though Cersei would never admit it, the man had been a comfort when she found out that her entire world had been ripped away.
"You must have great faith in Ser Jaime," Qyburn said. "My apologies, I misspoke. You must have great faith in the Lord Hand to appoint him to such a prestigious position."
"Of course. Jaime and I are twins, we shared a womb and came into this world together. We share a soul; there is no one I trust more in this world."
"Few are blessed to find such a connection, I am jealous."
"You should be," Cersei grinned, an action that pulled at the burn patch on her cheek. 'Many have been jealous that Jaime was mine. It is only natural.'
"So you are pleased with his work as Hand of the King then?"
Cersei opened her mouth to say yes, of course she was. She should have Qyburn whipped for even suggesting something so preposterous as her darling Jaime being unable to perform in any way other than splendidly. And yet... She found her mouth closing of its own accord. While it was true that Jaime hadn't performed poorly in his new duties, that was mostly because he'd done very little with the position. Cersei would find him in the royal solar, pouring over the scrolls, ledgers, letters, books, and piles of other assorted documents that Jon Arryn had left behind. He'd squint down at the pages before him, rubbing his forehead like he was attempting to fend off a headache.
When Cersei attempted to sooth him, her lover had the audacity to brush her off and claim to be busy. That would go on until she finally demanded he join her in bed and leave the mess to be dealt with tomorrow. For as painful as touch could be at the moment, it was all made better when Jaime held her, whispering comforting words into her ear as he stroked Cersei's remaining hair until she was lulled to sleep.
'You'd think for such a famously intelligent man, Jon Arryn would have been more organized in his duties.'
"Jaime is loyal," Cersei said after a moment. "And that is all I care about."
"Loyalty is very important, especially in such trying times," Qyburn agreed. "To be betrayed by a brother of all things, the heartache it must cause. I imagine the question of who you can trust is laying on your mind more heavily than ever now. Who could wield the next dagger? A maid? A Cousin? Perhaps even one of the Kingsguard? With Ser Barristan's betrayal, my faith in the organization has been shaken."
Cersei pursed her lips, "You're right. I've been giving some thought to disbanding the group, at least as they currently stand. Boros Blount and Preston Greenfield are dead, Barristan has committed treason by fleeing with my enemies, and Jaime is now serving a higher duty as my Hand. What good is half a guard? No, better to disband it and rebuild from the ground up.
"I should hang Mandon Moore, Meryn Trant, and Arys Oakheart for their failures during the Traitor's Coup, but they shall live for now. They're skills can still be of use to the realm in some way. However, I won't let myself be failed like the Kingsguard failed my Joffrey."
"Ah, yes, Princess Myrcella must be protected. Once she is rescued and brought to safety, that is."
Cersei's heart clenched at the mention of her daughter. Surely her beautiful princess, where she may be, was terrified. The world existed to hurt little girls, after all.
'She'll come back to me,' Cersei told herself. 'Myrcella will be back with me soon, and using her claim to the Iron Throne, nothing will be able to stop me from bringing forth a new dynasty of proud lions to rule Westeros. I'll send every hunter, tracker, and soldier in Westeros to find her if I have to. No castle will be safe from my search.'
Qyburn stepped away, the treatment and rebandages of her burns finally finished. "Your Majesty, may I speak bluntly for a moment."
Cersei paused, wig in her hands, and eyed the former maester's reflection for a long moment. On one hand, no one should presume to speak bluntly in front of a queen. It was so easy for one to lose themselves in the face of their betters.
Then again...
'He wasn't wrong about the pain,' Cersei thought, gingerly flexing her muscles. Her skin was still tight, and moving the injured parts of her body was uncomfortable. Yet Qyburn's medicine has already eased the pain without clouding her mind like the Milk of the Poppy. He'd also been correct about the soothing properties of cool milk baths, and how they'd done wonders to sooth the large, raised blisters that dotted her body like grotesque, malformed tumors. 'It is... reasonable to assume he'd have something else worth hearing of. And, besides, I can always have his tongue removed if he over-steps.'
"Speak your mind, Maester. I'll hear you out. Within reason."
"Your beauty can never be what it was." When Cersei tensioned and turned an angry glare on the old man, he held up a finger. "It simply can't. The burns run deep into your being; quite frankly, you should have died. Returning what was lost is not possible, at least not with my current abilities. I can repair and rebuild once your skin has returned to a healthy enough state. My time traveling throughout Essos with the Brave Companions, I was able to study many foreign techniques related to healing and repairing physical damage. Burn wounds are common everywhere in the world, though treatments vary as much as local tongues. And my time there has left me with more tricks than most. If you give me time."
"You've said this before," Cersei replied sharply. "Why are you repeating yourself? To simply ask for more time?"
"To ask for a chance to prove myself as more than simply a healer," Qyburn said. "Let me advise you. Let me aid you. Let me create ways to help you secure the rule you... and your daughter rightly deserve."
"And in return? Money, I assume. Power."
Those would be common enough motives. Comfortable even in their predictability. Father always said to be wary of those who came bearing gifts. After all, it was easy to hide poison in wine.
"I am a humble man, I have little interest in personal luxuries," the old man said. "The only thing I ask for is the ability to perform my research and experiments on matters of great personal interest. Though, rest assured, that same research could benefit you and the throne greatly."
"How so?"
Qyburn clicked his tongue. "If all goes well, I may have a way to ensure your soldiers and loyal men still fit, sharp, and properly devoted to your cause. Pardon my vagueness, Your Majesty, but I do not wish to get your hopes up. This procedure, for now, only exists within my mind."
'Strong men are a rare thing to come by, loyalty rarer still. To have a way to bolster the ranks in my favor... Yes, that is something worth investigating.'
"What would you need?"
"Space, mostly. A source of running water, a steady supply of raw materials."
"Simple enough."
"And, most importantly, a steady supply of fresh corpses."
When Cersei gave the old man a confused look, Qyburn just gave a gentle smile. "Anatomical study is vital to my research, Your Majesty, and I can hardly experiment on the living."
"I'll consider it," the Queen said after a long moment. "There are many others vying for my favor and approval."
"Of course Your Majesty. That is completely understandable."
"But... I think I can make a place for you by my side."
The Small Council historically consisted of seven members, owing to both Andal traditions and the Faith of the Seven. Currently, there were only three: herself, Pycelle, and Jaime. In a perfect world, this would almost be ideal, as it would allow Cersei to make all important decisions herself. Sadly, the world was not perfect. No one would take Cersei seriously if she didn't have the support of men with important names and titles behind her, for better or worse. Such was a frequent obstacle in Cersei's life, though one she was prepared to overcome. These people should know how folly it would be to doubt her. After all, she had managed to pull off a coup right under her father's nose.
And now here she was, standing in the Small Council chambers, surrounded by all its gilded glory, and staring down the dozen or so men in front of her, some familiar, some not. Almost none worth trusting.
'It is all a matter of controlling the narrative, of putting people who will obey men in the positions where they themselves are obeyed.'
And, for now, that meant putting up with the foolish men who forced herself into Cersei's castle, demanding to be heard and allowed to make decisions about things that didn't concern them. Annoying as it was, Cersei would endure it until such time a loyal Small Council could be installed. Besides, she could not be expected to sully herself with the minor issues involved with running a kingdom. It was beneath someone like Cersei!
"Perhaps we should open this meeting with a moment of silence," Grand Maester Pycelle suggested. "In memory of those who have been lost in such a short time, the members of the royal family and Lord Tywin, of course. His loss will be felt tremendously throughout all of Westeros. He was such a strong presence, so powerful and self-assured and intelligent. He—"
"That is quite enough, Grand Maester," Cersei said, cutting the awkwardness off. She took her seat at the head of the table —the King's chair— and gestured for everyone else to be seated. "My father's death is a tragedy, but no more so than either of my sons. We can honor them by taking Westeros in hand, and pulling it back into control. It is what my father would have wanted. No, it is what my father would have demanded. Had he not died at the hands of my traitorous brother and his cohorts."
Out of the corner of her eye, Cersei saw Jaime shift uncomfortably. "Speaking of... traitors, we need to discuss what we are going to do with the families that we are currently holding in the Red Keep."
"For their protection," Cersei said quickly. "As well as our own. These are trying times, and we must expect that our enemies will raise up arms against us. Keeping as many heads of family here, under our control, as possible is for the good of everyone."
In the scramble to seize control of the city, mistakes had been made. In addition to the Starks, the Tyrells and that horrid little Baratheon girl managing to escape, the Tarlys had managed to slip out of the city right before the gates had been locked down. Key members of the major houses escaping made this entire thing more complicated, as did Jon Arryn's death. She now had less leverage than she wanted, less than Cersei needed to bring the country to heel.
'For now, we will simply have to make due with the minor houses we have,' Cersei conceded. 'Combined, it should be enough to give my enemies pause when moving against me.'
Jonos Bracken and his three eldest daughters.
Jason Mallister and his son.
Timid and cowardly William Mooton.
Ser Morton Waynwood and his son Roland, both direct heirs of House Waynwood.
Ser Jasper Redfort, son of Lord Horton Redfort.
Old Eon Hunter and his entire family.
Lady Tanda Stokeworth and both of her daughters: Falyse, and the grossly fat one, Lollys. Along with Falyse's husband, Ser Balman Byrch.
Orton Merryweather and his family.
Mathis Rowan and his daughter.
Eldon Estermont, along with both his son and grandson.
'Not a bad catch,' she thought, a small smile playing on her lips. 'While many do not hold great individual power, combined they will likely be enough to put pressure on their Liege Lords. In the meantime, I will keep their minds soft, and their bodies comfortable. I may even be able to turn hostages into allies.'
"Trying times indeed, Your Majesty," agreed Ser Harys Swyft. "So I hope it would not be too trying to ask you to retell what happened, from your own point of view. My old mind... details can get muddled."
Old Harys Swyft was the Knight of Cornfield and the head of House Swyft. More importantly, he was the good-father of Cersei's uncle Kevan. A match that had been made in part to settle a debt owed to House Lannister. Cersei liked him well-enough, having memories of him since she was a young girl; though he was old and useless, he was never one to rock the boat, and had served House Lannister well enough in these past decades. Perhaps it was good that the man had been in the city when Cersei put his plans in motion. Though he was not a member of the… previous Small Council, his name carried weight as did his close ties to her family. If nothing else, he'd be easy to manipulate, and his connection to her uncle could be quite valuable.
"I'm afraid my own memory of the event is not as full as I would like, Lord Swyft," she said. "As you all know, after our enemies started their coup, my father came to my chambers in the hope to protect me from danger. Sadly this cost him his life when Tyrion arrived, pleading his own defenselessness, and stabbed my father in the back with a letter opener before coming after me. It was only by the grace of the Seven that I survived, though our struggles knocked over the lamp and set the room ablaze. Tyrion fled, no doubt believing that I would die in the fire. It was only later that I found out what else had been lost."
She paused for a moment, letting a troubled look cross her face. Part of it was for show. Men often bent for the tears of a woman, of a grieving mother. But then the sight of Joffrey's body, chest filled with gaping wounds as if he was a damned pin cushion, flashes through her mind.
'My son is gone,' Cersei thought. More than just dead, Joffrey was gone. The breath was gone from his lungs, the warmth was gone from his skin, and the movement was gone from his heart. 'My son is gone and I'll never see him again. I'll never see him grow taller than me. I'll never watch as he is properly crowned king. I'll never feel his kiss or hear his voice again. All of that has been taken from me.'
Cersei swallowed hard and forced her armor back on. "When I woke in the infirmary, I had to not only face the reality of my injuries, but how badly my family and I had been failed by those who should have loyally served us. Clearly that trust was disastrously placed. Changes will have to be made."
Her words caused the guards standing by the door glanced at one another nervously, shifting uncomfortably as they tightened their grips on their sword hilts. It was a pleasing image, a reminder of the power she had over all of them. Traditionally speaking, the room should have been guarded by a knight of the Kingsguard standing outside of the chamber so as to not overhear royal secrets. Today though, Cersei wanted them to be present. She wanted them to hear the full scope of their failures.
'You should be nervous,' Cersei thought, fighting the urge to smirk.
Jaime cleared his throat. "We should focus on finding new members of the Small Council. Having one established will be vital to regaining control of the— our Kingdom. The position of the Master of Ships has been vacant since the death of Lord Stannis. And, as it stands, the former Masters of Laws and Coin are also gone."
"More than gone, they fled the city after the schemes they made with the Starks and their allies to assassinate myself and the royal family went wrong," Cersei interrupted. While she couldn't know for certain that all her enemies were working together just yet, she couldn't allow those traitors to go unpunished. Nor could she risk anyone deciding Varys or Baelish were worth listening to. "They will need to be found as well, so they may be properly punished for such a treacherous act."
"...Right," Jaime said slowly, nodding in agreement. "Yet another reason for us to quickly fill those positions with loyal, qualified men. It is for that reason I invited Janos Slynt."
He gestured to the stout, frog-faced man sitting next to him at the table. Clad inornate gold-and-black platemail, he was one of the new faces to Cersei. She could only hope that Jaime had a good reason for bringing this stranger into her presence. The man, Slynt, gave a nod of acknowledgement to everyone else, but stayed silent as Jaime continued his introduction.
"Some of you might know him as the former captain of the Iron Gate, and the current Commander of the City Watch. His efforts were also the reason we were able to... secure some of the noble families we now have in the Red Keep," Jaime said. "And I believe he will be of even greater aid in the time to come. Commander Slynt, if you will."
The man nodded again, standing and bowing to Cersei in an appropriate greeting. "Your Majesty, Lord Hand, my humble thanks for the opportunity to serve you in person."
"Speak quickly, Slynt," Cersei said. "Success in catching a few smaller fish does not negate the failure of the Gold Cloaks to catch the traitors to the crown, Tyrion, the Tyrells, Stark, and that bastard pup of his, allowing them to escape."
A cold look crossed Slynt's face; his mouth tightened into a small line, causing his jowls to wobble, yet he dropped his gaze down to look at the floor. Cersei couldn't see his expression, but she hoped for his sake that it was one of shame. After a moment, he seemed to compose himself. "And I endeavor to make up for my previous failure, Queen Cersei."
"How so?"
Clearing his throat, the man started. "I was born the son of a butcher in King's Landing, this city is all I've known for my entire life. I was a young man, one who only recently joined the City Watch, when I lived through the Sack of King's Landing. I'm sure anyone who remembers that terrible terrible event. Yet, for all the terror and pain it brought,—" Out of the corner of her eye, Cersei saw Jaime flinch "— it and Lord Tywin's actions taught me how important maintaining control of this city is for holding onto Westeros as a whole."
Slynt turned so he was addressing everyone in the room. Despite this, Cersei could not help but notice that he directed his words more at the men of the room instead of her.
'How predictable,' she thought. 'Does he believe that I am unable to understand my father's action? That I can't understand how important keeping the capital city under my thumb is?'
"Now, many years later, I have come to know this city better than most," Slynt continued. "I know who you would want on your side, who is loyal to someone outside these walls, and who would just be trouble—the most prevalent thieves and the like. I can share that information with you, and therefore help you maintain proper control of King's Landing."
Cersei picked up a glass of wine, allowing herself to savor the aroma of the dark liquid for a moment, before responding. "Oh, and what would you like in return?"
"Can you not believe I would do it out of loyalty to the crown?"
Letting out a loud, sharp laugh, Cersei said, "Forgive me, but my father taught me that every man wants something. So, what is it then? Gold? Land? A noble bride?"
That last one would be simple enough. There were plenty of captive noble-born girls that would do, as well as plenty in her extended family. What was the name of Lannisport girl Myrcella was fond of? Rosemary? No, Rosemund. Yes, that was it. She was a pretty enough girl, though her looks were a pale reflection of Cersei and Myrcella's own glorious looks.
"I merely wish to serve the realm, my Queen," Slynt said, voice slick as snake oil. "At the highest level that I am able. If you see the aid I can provide as Commander of the City Watch, you will surely see that I can provide as a member of the Small Council."
'Ah, so there it is,' Cersei thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"That is... an interesting idea, Commander Slynt," Jaime said slowly. "Perhaps—"
"I'm afraid I already have candidates in mind for the seats available in the Small Council," Cersei interrupted. "Qyburn here—" she gestured to the man "—will become the new Master of Whispers. Hisexperience as a maester and a traveler have left him both knowledgeable and worldly enough to be a proper adviser. His personal service to me has already proven quite invaluable. Truly a man to keep by my side during these difficult times."
"I am delighted to have the ability to serve in a more direct fashion," the old man said calmly, as if they were discussing the weather.
Jaime, however, looked alarmed. "Cersei, you didn't tell me about—"
"The Master of Laws will go to my Uncle Kevan," she continued. "A raven has already been sent to him, and I'm sure few will find issue with such a choice. My uncle is known throughout the land as an intelligent mind, and skilled as a leader. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Swyft?"
The old lord hesitated for a moment, though he eventually nodded. "Yes. I have often admired Kevan's keen, strategic thinking, and resolute effectiveness. Additionally, my daughter speaks well of the gentleness that tampers those sharper traits, as well as his dislike for needless ruthlessness."
That last part sounded like a slight about her father, Cersei noted. Ruthlessness was what Tywin was most well-known for, and was the lesson she'd learned best from him. Still, Swyft was being vague enough, and saying most of the right things that she'd hold her tongue for the time being.
Jaime, for his part, also nodded. "Uncle Kevan is a good choice for the role. It would also be nice to have him here. He spent years as Father's trusted right-hand man for good reason."
Cersei smiled, pleased her brilliance was being properly recognized.
"That leaves the positions of the Master of Ships and the Master of Coin. Both of which I imagine that, despite your many skills, you are unsuited for, Commander Slynt," she said. When the man's eyes narrowed in anger, his face growing red, yet Cersei smoothly continued on despite this traitorous reaction. "However, with Barristan Selmy's cowardly desertion and my darling Jaime's assignation to the position of the Hand of the Queen, the Kingsguard finds itself in need of a new Lord Commander. Someone strong and loyal, someone who can be trusted both to loyally serve me and select competent men to fill the new openings in the Kingsguard."
'Slynt has no face for cards,' Cersei noted, watching in amusement as the man's eyes widened when he realized the implication. He nodded quickly and with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the display. Jaime looked less impressed by the idea, but neither he nor anyone else in the room spoke up against her.
"Of course, recent events have proven that the current Kingsguard system has flaws that need to be addressed. Thankfully, I am looking into plans to correct the issue."
Confused looks crossed the faces of all the other men present, once again filling Cersei with a sense of power.
"Plans?" Jaime asked. "What plans?"
"While I mean no disrespect, Lord Hand, I prefer to keep those plans between the Queen and I," Qyburn said. "It is always best to keep the circle of secrets as small as possible, for safety's sake. Besides, I do not wish to disappoint anyone if things do not go how I hope."
Cersei couldn't claim to understand the idea for "strong men" that Qyburn had explained to her. Yet, so long as the man provided results like he described, she didn't particularly care about the specifics.
"...Fine," Jaime replied. "Moving on from that, we should discuss the other Great Houses. Pycelle, who has responded to Cer—our summons?"
'Them,' Cersei scowled, bringing the wine back up to her lips. 'My enemies. Even now, they continue to defy me.'
The old Grand Maester shuffled through some paper before himself. "Lysa Arryn was the first to respond on her behalf of her son."
"That is not surprising. Robin Arryn is still quite young, and from what I've heard, quite sickly," Swyft said.
'That is too kind of a description,' Cersei thought. 'The weak little runt should've been drowned at birth. He isn't worthy of his position in life, not like my Joffrey was. Then again, that is to be expected considering his cow of a mother. Lysa was always too weak. Since the day I met her, I saw her for what she was: a woman who lets herself be controlled by the men around her.'
"What did Lysa say?" she asked.
Another shuffle of the papers. "Lady Arryn says that her priority is caring for his son now, and asks that her husband's bones be sent to the Eyrie so she can ensure that the late Lord Arryn receives a proper funeral."
"That's it?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Neutrality isn't necessarily a bad thing," Swyft said cautiously, clearly seeing where this was going.
"It's a cowardly thing," Cersei replied. "A disloyal thing. Write back to Lysa Arryn immediately, and tell her that she must declare a side or face the consequences."
"Of course," Pycelle nodded. "But, on the unfortunate topic of disloyalty, the Tullys and the Starks have both sent back outright rejection of your orders, my Queen. Should I respond?"
The outcome was predictable, yet anger still came all the same. Every muscle in her body tensed, and Cersei had to fight the urge to throw her goblet across the room. However, always the proper lady, Cersei maintained her poise and said, "No. I gave them their chance to repent for the actions of their kin and show proper loyalty, only for that generous opportunity to be rejected. What happens next is their own fault."
"Of course," Pycelle said once more. "Moving onto the other Great Houses, we have —perhaps predictably— heard nothing from the Greyjoys, Martells, Tyrells, and Baratheons."
"Predictable for the Tyrells and Baratheons, they're probably still regaining their footing after... recently events. I know Willas Tyrell wouldn't decide on anything without consulting his grandmother, and the remaining Baratheons are likely scrambling to find an appropriate leader."
"Should that not be Lord Renly?" Swyft asked.
Jaime met Cersei's eyes, their gaze holding for a long moment before Jaime looked away as Cersei took another long drink of wine. "...Reports say that Lord Renly was badly injured during the coup. There is no way of knowing if he is still alive, let alone in shape to lead."
'As if Renly was ever fit to lead everyone. That cockless idiot knew how to do nothing but prettily smile and say the right words,' she thought. "If he is out of the picture, that leaves Stannis Baratheon's diseased little girl as the only high ranking member of the Baratheon line. And she herself is under the control of that low-born pirate."
Old Lord Swyft tutted. "That poor little girl, she must be so frightened. She has already lost her father, and now had to witness her mother being butchered. I hope she is alright."
Ah yes, the Lady Selyse Baratheon, as ugly as she was stuck up and stiff. It was a shame to lose her, as the woman would have been a valuable captive. At least being dead she could not contradict Cersei's story, and it wasn't like horrid little Shireen was any threat to her so there was no true loss. And besides, Cersei thought there was very little difference between Selyse as a woman and a corpse, for as both she was cold and rigid.
"Yes, the world enjoys hurting little girls," Cersei said dismissively. "Pycelle, find out who Lord Renly left in charge of Storm's End in his absence. Pen a letter to them directly, reiterating that it is in their best interest to bend to my will."
She made a mental note to give Qyburn the same instructions. Both as insurance she'd get the answers she wanted, and as a test of the man's suitability for his new position.
"Right away, Queen Cersei." Pycelle scrambled to make a note of something. "Now, as for the Greyjoys... I'm afraid to admit that I cannot speak much about their current state."
"That's right, they've been strangely quiet these past few years," Jaime added. "Or quieter than usual at least. Are there no insights to what has been happening on the islands?"
"Lor—" Pycelle cast Cersei a cautious look before clearing his throat. "Former Lord Varys was looking into the matter, and I know he had some theories, yet he sadly burned all the notes and papers in his solar before he fled the city."
Cersei scowled. 'That eunice was never loyal to anyone but himself. Very well, he can take those secrets straight to the grave.'
"If I may," Slynt spoke up, "you could perhaps consult some sailors and fishermen who travel near the Iron Islands. If anyone in the city were to have an idea as to what is going on in those waters, it would be them."
"That is such an excellent suggestion, I should have thought of it myself," Cersei said, flashing the man a smile that stung and pulled at her burnt flesh. "Exactly the kind of thinking I expect from the next potential Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I'm sure you intend to take the initiative to perform that task yourself once we are done here."
It was embarrassing how a little bit of praise and a smile could have men drooling like brain dead dogs.
"Yes, my Queen. Absolutely, my Queen."
"Uncle Kevan may also have some information. If I knew my father, he would have already been investigating the situation," Jaime added.
It was a good idea. Practical, logical. It was so good that Cersei felt a twinge of annoyance that she hadn't thought of it first.
"And then there are the Martells..." Pycelle said, trailing off at the end as a notable discomfort filled the rooms.
It seemed as if no one wanted to be the first to speak, to acknowledge the dark history between the Martells and the Lannisters. One would think that the lack of an outright rejection of Cersei's rule would prove some comfort, yet instead it was just another enemy in the shadows.
After a long moment, Swyft weakly cleared his throat and offered, "Doran Martell has shown in the past that he will choose the peace and protection of his people over war and strife. I'm sure he will do the right thing for Dorne once more."
Cersei rolled her eyes. "Do not attempt to pacify me like I am a small child, Lord Swyft! I am no fool, everyone here is well-aware of the bad blood between my family and the Martells of Dorne, after all that messy business with the Princess and my father's actions in King's Landing."
"It's not just us that the Martells have a grudge against," Jaime pointed out. "There are the Baratheons, of course, and I doubt Doran and Oberyn have many warm feelings about the Tullys and Starks. And, while they may have fought alongside the Tyrells during Robert's Rebellion, After what happened to Willas Tyrell, there is no lost love between the two families."
"Perhaps that those disputes would be enough to turn them to our side," Qyburn asked, his voice low and smooth. "Especially if combined with something else of value to outweigh any desires for vengeance. The Master of Coin seat perhaps? Prince Doran is known as a frugal and practical leader when it comes to spending."
"Perhaps..." Cersei hummed thoughtfully. "But not until they prove their loyalty. I won't have someone I can't trust in charge of the finances of my kingdom. No, for now I shall personally handle that matter."
Jaime gave her an alarmed look. "Cersei, are you sure? That is an incredible undertaking, and you are still recovering."
"Of course I am! Do not forget, like all noble women, I was taught how to properly manage a household, and what is a kingdom if not one large household?" Then, after a moment, Cersei shot Jaime a glare and added, "And mind your tongue, Lord Hand. Your role is to advise, not contradict me."
.
.
.
"Yes, Queen Cersei," Jaime said softly, ducking his head. "My apologies."
"I do not suppose you have a better candidate?" Cersei pressed. "One you are sure we can trust?"
There were a flurry of titters, mumbled half-names and unenthusiastic suggestions that no one was bold enough to openly endorse. Pycelle in particular twitched as if he wanted to say something, yet wisely kept his peace. When the room fell quiet once more, Cersei knew she had won once more.
'As it should be.'
"On matters of loyalty, I must take the burden of bringing up that Kevan Lannister has not responded to your message either," Pycelle said, his voice meek and careful. "I'm sure he is simply in shock, and mourning the loss of his brother. Or the correspondence has been interrupted. There are many possible explanations for the silence, most of which are completely mundane. Still, it is for the best of everyone that his loyalties are clearly stated. If nothing else, it will send a powerful message to our enemies."
"The Swyfts, of course, side with the rightful ruler of Westeros," Lord Swyft quickly added. His old eyes scanned Cersei's face, as if trying to divine the best response from it. "As always, our loyalty is absolute, my Queen."
"How proper of you to say so, Lord Swyft."
Before Cersei could say more, Slynt piped up once more.
"Wait, what does it matter if Lord Kevan's responds? Wasn't the Imp his father's heir?"
'Only reluctantly,' Cersei thought, grip tightening on her glass, too livid to respond. 'Father hated Tyrion. He always saw Tyrion for the monster that is. He should have thrown him into the sea as a baby, plenty would have. No, instead he kept the Imp around and let him sully the family name. A name that I, as Father's true heir, will have to fix.'
Jaime shifted uncomfortably. "Tyrion's location is currently unknown, but technically—"
"Tyrion Lannister has been removed from the line of succession," Cersei interrupted. "His traitorous actions have made him undeserving of the air he breathes, let alone control of the proudest of the noble houses."
Ignoring her twin's shocked look, she continued. "My uncle is a practical man. He will see that he must stand with family, especially with the allure of a personal seat on the Small Council. Rest assured, I have all matters related to my family firmly in hand."
Looks of uncertainty passed between all the men in the room, causing a spike in annoyance. "Unless, of course, there is anyone here who doubts me?"
Silence.
"Alright then, onto the next matter: heirs." Cersei settled further into her seat, and fought the urge to wince as the padding caused chafing against her burns. "Myrcella will be queen. I will hear nothing more on the subject! She is Robert's only surviving child. His brothers are either dead or turned traitor. The Iron Throne is her birthright, and after having so much of her family torn away, I refuse to let that be stolen away as well."
"That is highly unusual, my Queen," Pycelle said, before quickly adding, "Yet it is fitting, as we find ourselves in a highly unusual situation. Princess... soon-to-be Queen Myrcella is the only living child of the late King Robert, as you said, and with no other close male relatives to be found, she is the default heir. Yet there is still the issue of her currently being in the enemies' clutches. Even if the crown is to be hers, the fact remains that she is not here to wield its power."
"Which is why I have made clear my intentions to rule in her stead," Cersei responded. "This would be the case even if Myrcella was here. She is a child, completely incapable of ruling on her own. She still needs another to guide her. As both the Dowager Queen, and the Queen Mother, I am the only one who can do so."
"A regent is typical in similar cases," Jaime was quick to point out.
"Indeed," Swyft said, not meeting Cersei's eyes. "It is also typical, and highly beneficial for betrothals to be made. Especially with conflict growing on the horizon, I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone here that marriage is an excellent way to gain allies."
For a brief moment, Cersei saw red. "Absolutely not!"
Shocked eyes turned on her.
"Queen Cersei, I—" Swyft stammered out.
"My daughter is only a child, and more importantly, the Queen of Westeros," Cersei hissed. "I will not allow anyone to sell Myrcella as if she was a common cow!"
"No one is speaking of marriage proper," Pycelle said, raising a hand in a patronizing attempt to calm her. "Just that simply entertaining offers and correspondence with interested noble families could be a useful avenue to explore. As she gets older, Princess Mycrella will have someone to support and guide her as she ages."
"Mycrella will have me, and that is all she will ever need!"
Another uncomfortable silence filled the room before Swyft cleared his throat.
"If I may be so bold... Have you given thought to marrying again, Your Majesty?" he asked slowly. "You are still young and beautiful, it seems like a waste to resign yourself to permanent widowhood for the rest of your life."
Cersei was torn between rage at the gal of Lord Swyft to say such a thing, and the desire to preen at the flattery. Flattery that seemed justified up until Cersei shifted in the chair, sparking pain that served as a reminder of her recent disfigurement. After that, it simply sounded like mockery. Though, even as her anger began to rise, Cersei found she didn't have to speak up.
"The Queen has only just experienced the loss of her husbands, father, and two sons in a short period," Jaime said, voice tight and tense. "In addition to being terribly injured and having her only remaining child stolen by enemies. It is foolish to think that she'd be considering marrying again so soon after these tragedies."
'Oh, Jaime. You're always here to protect me; it was what you were born to do. If I were to ever remarry, it would be to you. That has always been my greatest dream, for you and I to live together as husband and wife somewhere no one knows who we are and cannot judge us.'
It had been years since Cersei had seriously considered that foolish dream, forcing herself to be content with their stolen moments together, and the knowledge that Jaime was her true husband in all matters of the heart, soul, and mind—no matter what the laws of Men maintained to be true.
"The Lord Hand is correct," Cersei said, gesturing to the lovely black dress she was wearing to honor her beloved Joffrey. "As important as marriage and betrothals can be for forming alliances, I am still in mourning for my dead husband and family. Everyone will have to respect that. However, if Houses start sending offers of interest for my daughter and myself, you are welcome to start cataloging them, Grand Maester. They may be useful for the future."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Cersei shifted in her chair again, wince in pain. "If that is it, then I suppose this meeting is over. I—"
"Not quite, my Queen," Pycelle interrupted, flinching when she glared at him. "My deepest apologies for speaking out of turn, but there is still the matter of the empty Lord of Ships position."
"The position has been empty since the death of Lord Stannis. It is hardly a major concern, especially considering the state of the nearly non-existent royal fleet," Cersei rolled her eyes. "When the Crown has ships to command, or when Uncle Kevan turns over command of the Lannister Fleet to me, I will find someone for the position. Until then, do not bother me about it."
She tried to stand, tired, annoyed, and ready to strip off this heavy dress and take another milk bath. Unfortunately, she was once again interrupted.
"Your Majesty is correct in that we are in desperate need of a Royal Fleet, especially with the seeming inevitably of conflict," Pycelle said. "However, from what remains of Lord Baelish's notes and ledgers, it is obvious that the Crown is... sorely lacking in the funds necessary to create a royal fleet."
"Do the surviving notes tell you anything else?" Jaime asked.
The old Grand Maester hung his head. "Only about the severity of the Crown's debts. Perhaps Lord Baelish had a plan for dealing with the issue, but he's left only chaos in his wake."
Jaime swore. "Wherever Littlefinger is, I'll bet he's laughing at all of us. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he was skimming funds himself; the Seven know Robert didn't pay any attention to what the man was doing."
Qyburn tutted. "Debts are never a good sign. They are bad blood, old stains even on a new foundation. The Crown should attempt to pay them down promptly. I can assume that several of these debts are to the Iron Bank of Braavos, correct?"
"Yes."
"That is not good news," Qyburn said, shaking his head. "The Iron Bank has a reputation of being... absolutely ruthless when it comes to their money. If they don't get it from us, they will back our enemies. It has happened before and I have no doubt that it will happen again. Debts to them are always paid, one way to the other. That is something I'm sure you and the Lord Hand can appreciate, Your Majesty."
'A Lannister always pays his debts, and Father often says that everyone else should be held to this standard. However, the debts are hardly mine! Once again, men have left behind a mess that a woman must clean up. Still, Father also said that there is power in gold and money. Or, at least, the illusion of it.'
"The Lannister family still has gold aplenty," Cersei lied smoothly. "When Uncle Kevan agrees to work with us properly, the Crown will have access to those funds. Other than that, taxes can be raised, and coin can be demanded from the traitorous families as repatriations."
Lies were important in maintaining control of those around her, Cersei had learned this at a young age. If gold was power, then lies were currency. Currency that she could use to buy loyalty from those around her. She could not be sure that Jaime did not know about the Lannister gold mines running dry, but she had faith that Jaime would not betray her even if he did. Uncle Kevan certainly did, though that could be dealt with in time.
'Gold isn't the only thing worth coin that I have at my disposal,' Cersei thought, remembering an idea she had considered while recovering. 'People are worth coin too, in the right market. Jorah Mormont sold poachers into slavery to appease his pretty, brainless Hightower bride. I, however, have both a more noble motive and more stock at my disposal. This city is filled with the dirty and useless. No one would notice or care if the poor from Flea Bottom were to go missing, especially if it happens during a war. War is a terrible thing, it takes many lives—in more ways than one.
' I'll have to figure out the logistics of gathering the livestock up and transporting them for sale, unless I can find a trustworthy enough middleman, but that is doable enough.'
Swyft clicked his tongue nervously, "Queen Cersei, I can't help but wonder if—"
Cersei cut the man off. "Are you doubting me, Lord Swyft? Because doing so is dangerously close to treason."
A look of terror flashed across the old man's face. "No, no! Of course not, Your Majesty! I just worry that, after everything you've gone through, all the responsibility you're putting on yourself could be detrimental to your health. After all, where would the realm be if you were to fall ill?"
'Caught yourself there, did you?' Cersei thought, lips pursed in a non-pussed expression. She looked around, catching similar expressions on all the others' faces. "Oh, do not worry about me, Lord Swyft. Lord Tywin always put his duties to the realm before all else, including minor aches and pains. I am my father's daughter, don't any of you doubt that! I learned my lessons on how to rule at his knee, and know how to deal with my enemies. You'll all do well to remember that, as well that you are only here by my invitation. An invitation that I can revoke at any time I wish."
With one final glare at the stupid men who surrounded her, Cersei rose to her feet. "This meeting is over! Pycelle, Slynt, you have orders. Swyft, you may return to your family. Qyburn, we will meet to discuss things later. Jaime, come with me."
Without another word, she stormed from the room. Guards and servants scrambled out of the way, not even daring to look Cersei in the face.
"Cersei? Cersei, wait!" Jaime called as he scrambled after her. He followed Cersei into one of her private chambers.
Once the door was locked behind them, Cersei threw up her hands in exasperation. "Well, that was a disaster!"
"It wasn't that bad," Jaime said, already pouring her a drink. "No worse than some of old King Robert's."
Cersei paused from undoing the laces of her dress. "Don't compare me to that man! You saw the way Pycelle and the others looked at me! They showed me no respect, not like they did Father or Robert!"
"Oh, I promise you that few respected Robert."
Cersei glared. "You don't understand! You're a man, a trained warrior! Respect and the ability to wield power has always just been handed to you because of that thing between your legs! I, on the other hand, have needed to scheme, lie, and manipulate my way through life when I wanted to control anything. This is finally my chance to wield power in the visible, tangible sense that I've always wanted!"
'I have enemies lurking in every shadow. Everyone is watching me, waiting for me to bleed into the water so they can swarm and rip me apart. They want to take my power away from me like they took my beloved Joffrey.' She looked at Jaime, giving him that look that always made him melt. "You understand, don't you Jaime? You understand how I deserve this, don't you? You don't think me mad, do you?"
For a brief moment, her twin froze up. Cersei could practically see the words flying through Jaime's head as his lips quivered, trying to form words.
"Jaime?" she pushed, making her voice soft and meek. "You know I love you, right? You're the only person I have left to love."
And, just like that, Jaime crumbled. "I love you too, Cersei. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."
He pulled her into a tender embrace, being careful to not irate her burns. When he pulled away, Cersei found herself studying her twin's face.
"What is it?" Jaime asked when her lips dipped into a frown.
"You're getting older," she said, reaching out to stroke a small, barely noticeable strand of silver mixed in among the golden blond. "We don't look much alike anymore."
Sadness filled his eyes even as Jaime forced a smile. "That happens with all twins as they age. Time wears on everyone differently, I suppose."
"Joffrey looked like you when you were young. Better even, because he had some of my own beauty. He was perfect, and they killed him for it. Just like they'll kill me."
"...Cersei, are you-"
"Help me finish undressing," Cersei demanded, turning her back on him. After a moment, Jaime started unlacing the back of her gown, hands as practiced at this as they were wielding a sword. When all the different layers of her outfit had been finally undone, Cersei carelessly let the expensive black gown fall to the ground. She kicked it to the side, leaving it for a servant to clean up.
"My robe," she instructed, nodding towards where it was still draped over one of her armchairs.
When Jaime passed it over, Cersei let him tie it for her. The light, silky material felt wonderful against her burned skin. Finally, she took the goblet of wine offered to her and didn't argue when Jaime led her to sit in the armchair.
"Ahhhh, much better," she sighed, setting into the cushioned seat. "Jaime, order the servants to prepare a milk bath for me. Oh, I want warmed spice wine with haddock in herb sauce, mushroom pasties, and a cream custard tart for my meal tonight. I'm in the mood for something light."
"Of course, Cersei," he said softly. Jaime knelt down next to her, taking her hand. "But... I'm worried about you! Ever since we lost Father, Joffrey, and Tommen, you—"
"We lost them?" Cersei scoffed. She pulled her hand away from Jaime's. "We didn't lose anything. You had no relationship with Joffrey and Tommen! You couldn't have cared less about them!"
Jaime looked hurt. "That's not true, I—"
"Don't you dare compare your grief to my own! You have no idea what it is like to be a childless mother!"
She wouldn't be like that for long. Cersei would get Myrcella back; even if she had to burn this city and every other city and castle in Westeros down, she wouldn't let anyone else have her daughter. More than that, she and Jaime would have more children. And they would be better this time because Robert wouldn't be around to taint them with his influence. Of course, they would have to get to work creating those babes as soon as possible, so they could be passed off as her late husband's spawn. Sex would be painful now, no matter how much Milk of the Poppy she drank, but feeling Jaime inside of her and having her womb filled with his children again would make the pain worth it. If for no other reason than it would secure Cersei's grip on the Iron Throne.
'And I'll keep them safe,' she promised herself. 'I'll get rid of all who oppose me and rule Westeros as it always should have been. I'll turn it into a paradise for Jaime, our children, and myself. No one will be able to take anything away from me ever again. Jaime will forever be by my side, and our children will stay with us. With all our enemies dead, no one will be able to oppose us.'
"No, no I would never," Jaime promised. "I can't imagine what you're going through. I'm still worried though, you've... not been well since you awoke. And, before you say anything, it's more than the burns or grief. You're more... aggressive now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were excited about the idea of war!"
"Is that such a bad thing?" Cersei asked. "Should I not thirst for vengeance after the deaths of our family and my own disfigurement?"
Jaime shook his head. "No! No, I mean... Wanting revenge is... fine! I want to hurt the people who took Father and Tommen away too, but that isn't what I meant! Cersei, I've been part of a war, I know what it's like. War is horrible beyond belief, so awful for everyone involved that I can't even put it into words. You shouldn't want to rush into it; a civil war will devastate the entirety of Westeros, especially since the odds against us aren't good!"
"And what makes you say that?"
"Experience!" Jaime said. "Experience that you don't have! Cersei, you made me Hand of the King so I could advise you. So I am begging you to listen to my advice!"
Cersei glared at her twin, searching his face for the love that should have been there. Instead, she only found worry and fear.
'He doesn't trust me,' she realized. 'Jaime thinks I'm a stupid, useless woman like every other man out there. He thinks I haven't considered lack of soldiers? Of course I have! I've always been able to get what I want, even if I've had to be creative about it. This is no different. There are plenty of mercenary groups out there who would jump at the chance to serve me. Qyburn used to be a member of the Brave Companions, perhaps he can get in contact with their leadership for me?'
"Cersei?" Jaime asked, knocking her out of her thoughts and plans to speak with dear cousin Lancel.
"...I have much to think about," Cersei said after a moment of staring into her twin's pleading eyes. "Go, I need time alone."
Jaime looked hurt at the abrupt dismissal but he nodded and rose to his feet. "Alright, I'll go order your supper, and tell the servants to prepare your bath."
When he was at the door, Cersei called out to him. "Jaime?"
"Yes?"
"No matter what happens, I will not forgive those who've failed and betrayed me. The Starks, the Tarlys, the Baratheons, Littlefinger, Varys, the Hound, Tyrion... I'll see them all burn for what they've taken from me," she said. "The people around me should be careful, less I see their bodies added to the pyre."
.
.
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"Of course, Cersei. I understand."
And, just like that, he was gone, leaving Cersei alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts and the reflection of her scarred face in the mirror. The candlelight flickered, filling the dim room with an uneven, unnerving light. One of the maids must have added some herbs and spices into the fire, because the entire room smelled like cinnamon and clove. It was enough to nearly have Cersei drifting off in the armchair.
She closed her eyes and let her mind slip backwards in time until she was standing in a dark tent, glass jars full of strange spices, ground plants, and the body parts of animals. The air had been perfumed then as well. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a small fire burned in the corner. Cersei was there too, young and beautiful and still in love with the world.
"When will I wed the prince?" Cersei asked, finger still stinging from where Maggie had spliced it with an iron dagger.
"Never," the evil old crone replied. "You will wed the king."
At the moment, that had been good news. Cersei could marry Rhaegar without the shadow of the Mad King hanging over them. How stupid she had been.
"I will be queen, though?"
"Aye," Maggie's yellow eyes took on a sinister glean in the candlelight. "Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."
A younger queen... How long had Cersei agonized over the identity of the faceless woman who haunted her dream? For years, she watched with a critical eye as the young maids of court blossomed, confident when none of them came close to her in terms of beauty. Even the other famous beauties of Westeros were dull in comparison. Arianne Martell could turn an eye, yes, but that was because of her oversized chest and whorish garb. Margaery Tyrell was a pretty young rose (though, if what one of her surviving guards had relayed was true, the girl wouldn't be able to rely on her face anymore) but too sneaky and thorny to ever make a proper queen. As for Sansa Stark? Well, the girl was as pretty as she was stupid. She'd be no threat to Cersei, not for a long time.
'Serana, though, she is as beautiful and keen.' Cersei thought, anger spiking at the mental image of the dark-haired woman.
The so-called Lady Serana had been so arrogant it was sickening to be in the same room as her. How openly she flaunted her rejection of proper decorum even more so. And she'd been happy! The older Cersei got, the more she hated the happiness of younger girls. It was a bitter reminder of the naivety she'd long since lost, and the life that was denied to her.
'And now she is somewhere out there, with her claws around my poor daughter's neck,' Cersei thought. The image of Myrcella's beautiful face, eyes wide with fear, flashed through her mind. 'You've got to be strong, Little Lioness. Just like I had to. Don't let them destroy you. Don't let her destroy you.'
She took a long swallow of wine, the drink sour on her tongue, as the memories came again.
"Will the king and I have children?" Cersei asked, already knowing that children were the way to secure her power.
"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she said. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you," Maggie replied, a smile growing on her ugly face.
She hadn't needed to say all that, Cersei had often though. Maggie the Frog had promised Cersei three answers. And three answers the woman gave, three horrid, cursed answers. So why more? Why tell Cersei how she would die? For years, Cersei tried to convince herself that it might not have been true, that it might have been a horrible, hateful woman's attempt to drive a beautiful young girl mad. Yet, in her heart of hearts, Cersei knew that wasn't the case. She knew that, no matter how much Cersei tried to fight fate, that the valonqar... the Little Brother would kill her.
Unless Cersei managed to kill him first.
'Tyrion is still out there. He's probably plotting my death right now. As soon as he gets a chance, he'll kill me. Just like he killed my children.'
"You must be careful."
Cersei opened her eyes, staring into her vanity mirror. "I know that! I did everything I could to protect myself and my children, only for everything to fall into madness."
"Did it?" her reflection asked. "You have the Iron Throne. You're not tethered to some useless, brutish husband. You finally have the power you've always wanted, with no one standing in your way."
"That's not true. My enemies are still in every corner, lurking in every shadow. Tyrion, Swyft, Slynt, Pycelle, even Jaime. None of them believe in me, and the moment I show weakness, the moment I bleed in front of them, they'll rip my power and position away from me."
Her reflection smiled, skin smooth and beautiful. Completely without flaw. "You are smarter than them."
"But not stronger, not as things stand right now."
"Well, if things come down to it and they become too much of a threat, you know what you have to do."
Cersei started up in her seat. "What?"
A wider smile, bright white teeth gleaming in the candle light. "You have to kill them all. In any way you can. You finally have control over your own life for the first time ever, don't let anyone take it away from you. Don't be anyone's victim."
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.
.
"Alright," Cersei said, nodding along. "There will be war then."
"War can be a terrible thing, yet it can also be a cocoon for the transformation of your life and Westeros. You can do this, Cersei. You know you can, you've always known what was best for your family and for the world around you," the reflection encouraged. "So, what will be your first step?"
Cersei closed her eyes, trying to recall everything her father had ever said about ruling. 'Father said that controlling the movements of the world was the best way to secure one's hold. Control the flow of letters and information, control the movement of soldiers and merchants, and don't let anyone out from under your thumb.'
"I need to expand my sphere of control," she said eventually. "I will inform Jaime and Qyburn that I want our standing forces to be readied. King's Landing and the surrounding area needs to be kept secure. The soldiers should start patrolling the roads leading to the cities, and occupying nearby towns."
"Excellent, don't let any—"
An abrupt knocking on the door cut off Cersei's friend, reverting it to nothing but a mirror image.
"Who is it?" she demanded, pulling the tie of her dressing gown tighter.
"Grand Maester Pycelle, Your Majesty," a meek voice called from the other side of the door.
'I've just escaped your company. Why are you here to bother me just one?' Cersei sighed, rolling her eyes. "Enter!"
When the withered old man creeped in, Cersei scowled. "Whatever it is, be quick about it! I have too much else to do tonight to waste time on you."
"Of course, my Queen." Without another word, Pycelle pulled a scroll from his sleeve. "It's the Greyjoys, Your Majesty. They're finally sent word about their intentions."
Tyrion VI
"You're leaving? But we just got here!"
"This is hardly a vacation, Bronn," Tyrion replied, tucking a clean tunic into his knapsack. Though clearly made for a child, he could tell at a glance that it would fit him poorly. Still, Tyrion bit his tongue. The clothes had been given to him by the Bell Singer's captain, and complaining about the generosity shown to him by one of the few truly neutral parties around would be foolishness. "And yes, I will be traveling west with the Tyrells as soon as they set out, which will be after we've had one more strategy meeting. The sooner I get back to Casterly Rock, the better."
"In that much of a hurry, eh?" Bronn asked, lifting his head off the pillow to meet Tyrion's eye. The sellsword looked as content as a fat house cat from his position sprawled out the guest apartment bed, on the bedside table there was a bottle of wine and a plate of cheese and fruit. All things considered, the man looked as if he was more relaxed and comfortable than anyone else on Dragonstone.
Tyrion shoved a pair of trousers in the knapsack, following it with some socks. "If you're asking if I miss the place, then no. For all it may be my home, I do not have an abundance of happy memories there. Still, it is my family home and I must speak with my Uncle Kevan. I need to get there before Cersei gets her claws into him."
Uncle Kevan, with his well-known practical, pragmatic nature, would obviously be an important figure in the upcoming conflicts. But, while getting him on Tyrion's side was obviously important, Tyrion's Aunt Genna was a strange study in contradictions: fat and square-shaped, yet bosom and smooth-faced; shrewd and sarcastic, yet intelligent and loving. Genna had stepped into the maternal role of Tyrion and his siblings after the death of Joanna Lannister, and therefore was the only maternal figure Tyrion had ever known. He'd often thought that Aunt Genna had the strength of character and effortless authority that Cersei wished she had. And maybe, just maybe, she would be strong enough to pull Cersei back from this terrible edge she'd found herself on.
"While I'm hoping Cersei and her lot will be too disorganized to mount any sort of search or defense, the roads will still be dangerous," Tyrion said. "I'm still in the market for some protection. So, will you come with me, Bronn?"
The sellsword hemmed and hawed, flexing his body on the soft bed. He made such a show out of answering, that the thought occurred to Tyrion that Bronn would make an excellent actor or bard.
"I supooooooose that I can make the sacrifice of leaving," he said eventually. "Not for free, mind you. I like gold, and you Lannisters have plenty of it. Make no mistake though, if things go wrong, then our partnership is done. If protecting your arse becomes more trouble than it's worth, then I won't hesitate to throw it to the wolves, understand?"
Tyrion snorted. "Oh, I understand perfectly. Why do you think I hired you in the first place? Your overwhelming sense of compassion and mercy? By the Seven, no! It is your survival instinct and practicality that I value."
"Good, just so we have an understanding," Bronn said. He lifted his head up, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Have you given it any thought to what you'll do if things go wrong?"
'I was very much hoping to ignore that possibility, thank you very much,' Tyrion thought. He exhaled slowly, breath forced through clenched teeth. "When I first reached manhood, my father put me in charge of all the drains and cisterns in Casterly Rock. Lord of my ancestral home's waste. Undoubtedly, he considered that to be a suitable position for his unwanted imp of a son. And I excelled at the position, not even he could deny that. The water never flowed better. And all the shit found its way to the sea. There was hardly any stench."
"Is this going somewhere?" Bronn asked.
Tyrion rolled his eyes but continued. "I was getting there! Anyway, as a result of the said position, I know the ins and outs of Casterly Rock better than anyone. Better than my father and the castle guards. Including ones too small for a proper man. If a meeting with my family goes wrong, then I can use that knowledge to escape to safety. One of the few benefits of being a dwarf, I suppose. I might not be able to pull things off the high shelves, but at least I can sneak around and hide easier."
There was bitterness in that last statement, if one could not tell.
"You could also use that information to lead an invasion and capture that castle right off the back," Bronn pointed out.
Tyrion winced at the suggestion, the image of soldiers swarming his home filling his mind. "I'm going to my Uncle Kevan to avoid bloodshed and chaos, Bronn. You're a heartless, greedy bastard, my friend. And that is what I like about you. But even you have to understand why I don't want to risk the safety of my family, many of whom are women and children. Not to mention, we still do not yet have a standing force capable of such an undertaking."
He swallowed hard. "I'm not ruling out the idea, only saying that I'd rather it be a secondary option."
Bronn shrugged. "Meh, do what you want. It isn't my family, I have no stake in the matter."
'Family. My family...' Tyrion thought.
Though he sometimes denied it, Tyrion had good memories of his family. Jaime's warmth was there, of course, a kind and protective presence in his life. But there were also his uncles and aunt. Uncle Gerion, whom he had loved most of all, had taught Tyrion to juggle and tumble, and could also make him laugh. Uncle Tygett, bitter about constantly living in Tywin's shadow they might have been, and Uncle Kevan, who had come to embrace that he would never be his elder brother,were also kinder to Tyrion than his father ever was. Aunt Genna had once, when Tyrion was still quite young, acknowledged his intelligence as being on the same level of Tywin's capability. That was more than enough to secure Tyrion's affection for her. Then there were his many cousins and extended family. Yes, many of them kept their distance due to Tywin's disapproval, or, for the little ones, because they believed the rumors that Tyrion was some sort of horrible nightmare monster. A grumpkin that would lurk under the bed and eat them alive if they were to wander off at night.
'Will they side with me?' Tyrion asked himself, truly genuine for the first time. 'I know Uncle Kevan is a practical man, I know that logically. Yet I also know that he cares for the family reputation as well. I'm hardly well-liked by the nobility of Westeros. Even if they don't strike me down immediately, there is no guarantee that Uncle Kevan will decide to hear me out, let alone acknowledge that I was my father's heir and should now technically be the Lord of Casterly Rock. Or that he won't decide to take my information, turn around, and take it back to Cersei. In theory, the Lannisters finally have control of the Iron Throne like my father always wanted. Holding onto it is now the problem. He might think that backing Cersei is in the best interest of the family long term.'
Dread began setting into his bones, eating it away at his stomach and mind. Tyrion forced it away. 'No, no I can't let myself think like that. Plan for the worst, yes, to do anything else would be foolish. But I can't let the fear ruin my plans. I need to trust that Uncle Kevan will see the sense in standing against Cersei.'
Of course, a creeping voice reminded Tyrion, even if he took control of the family without issue, and Uncle Kevan did agree to work with him, there would still be much his family would be expected to answer for.
'Can we do it? Can we pay our debts?' Tyrion wondered. 'Using the Lannister forces to stop any conflict could be argued as recompense. It won't be enough though, people will want gold, land, and marriages in exchange for blood. I'll have to start calculating what the lives lost are worth.'
Tywin had always been good at that, to decide the worth of a man or woman or babe based on any number of factors. It was easy for the heartless old man; he had always calculated someone's worth when looking at them. And now Tyrion would have to figure out how to be just like him.
Many a bard's song talks about how it is impossible to hate someone without loving them, and while Tyrion doubted the validity of such a statement, it was certainly true when it came to his father.
'The old man had to die before I got a chance to tell him what I really thought about his arse, didn't he?' Tyrion thought. Abandoning his packing for the moment, Tyrion stole the wine from Bronn's bedside table. 'You never prepared me for this. Maybe it's because you never planned on me living long enough to take Lordship of Casterly Rock?'
That was likely it. While Tywin never outright tried to kill Tyrion, he'd always gotten the feeling the man wouldn't have helped Tyrion if he was dying in front of his father. The old man had always resented that he was stuck with Tyrion as his heir instead of Jaime. As if Tyrion found the idea of being saddled with the weight of thousands of people's needs exciting.
'Well, it looks like neither of us will get the peace we want,' he thought, taking a swing of the wine and wincing at the bitterness on his tongue.
"What're you thinking about?" Bronn asked.
"My father."
The sellsword snorted in amusement. "I think of my old man sometimes. He hit hard, the right ass he was; not as hard as my Ma though."
"My father never hit me," Tyrion replied. 'He couldn't be bothered.'
Bronn continued without acknowledging that Tyrion had said anything. "He was the one who taught me to only look after myself though. I have to give him credit for that."
Now it was Tyrion's turn to chuckle. "Well, I suppose the time has come for me to use what my father taught me, for better or worse, to survive and protect our family. I'm sure he'll approve, whatever hell he may be in, considering how much he always pressed putting the good of the family above all."
And putting the Lannister name first was what he was doing. Perhaps it would damn him, butTyrion would do whatever it took to protect his family, especially his brother.
'Oh, Jaime... Why do you have to be involved in this mess?'
His older brother would be a problem, no doubt about it. First and foremost, Jaime was an experienced battle commander and a fantastic fighter. On the battlefield, he'd be a one man army. Thankfully, Tyrion was fairly certain that Cersei would want to keep Jaime by her side, lessening his danger. Still, if war erupted, Jaime's skill at organizing troops would keep them on their toes. Simply put, Tyrion's beloved big brother was a potential enemy. A threat.
And yet Tyrion didn't care about any of that. Even if they were on different sides of a war, he wanted to protect Jaime. Even if that meant protecting Jaime from himself. Himself and, more importantly, from Cersei.
'Of all the women in the world, why did you have to fall in love with our own sister?' Tyrion silently asked, as if some magical sense of his brother could hear the question.
If such a thing was possible, what answer would Jaime give? Cersei was beautiful, yes, but so was fire, a stormy sea, a stalking wolf, and many poisonous plants—all of which were much more forgiving and merciful than their sweet sister. If you knew her as well as Tyrion did, then it was easy to see that, for all her beauty, Cersei was empty inside. Empty like a bottomless pit, an endless want for things she wasn't meant to have, and which only gave way for paranoia, jealousy, and desire.
Tyrion wasn't exactly sure when he'd become aware of Cersei and Jaime's illicit relationship. Even in his earliest memories, the two were always together. Even by that point, Cersei already had her claws deep within her twin, glaring and hissing and baring her fangs at anyone she believed was looking to take her beloved Jaime away. Many a poor maid had suffered greatly after smiling at, or receiving a smile from Jaime in Cersei's presence. If the young ladies of Casterly Rock were not careful, they would be found with a 'stolen' ring, or accused of 'spying' on family conversations. All infractions that Tywin, despite rarely caring to pay attention to any of his children if it didn't directly benefit him, would punish swiftly and without mercy or thought.
Having always been an observant individual, even as a child, Tyrion had picked up on this habit. It and Cersei's open hostility to him made Tyrion aware of his sister's true nature from very early on. Aware and confused as to why Jaime would show her so much love and warmth when Cersei had little to give in return. Still, despite this, Tyrion often found himself jealous of the twins. Love and kindness were a rarity in the Imp's childhood due to his cold father's scorn, and the fear or matching hatred of the majority of those around him. So, yes, many times Tyrion would look on at Cersei and Jaime and wish he had someone to be so hopeless and helpless for. Despite how much she hated him, there were times Tyrion wished Cersei would love him like she loved Jaime—no matter how twisted it was.
Or maybe not. As time went on, Tyrion had become more and more certain that Jaime loved Cersei far more than Cersei loved Jaime. Cersei, he'd often thought, couldn't love anyone aside from herself. Not really, at least. He'd watched as she doted on her children when they were babies and helpless young children, but aside from Joffrey, Cersei always seemed to grow dissatisfied with them as they aged and grew into individuals. In his opinion, it seemed that Cersei had become both more distant and more controlling just as Mycrella had started to truly come into her own.
'How long will it be before she grows dissatisfied with you as well, Jaime? You don't look as much like her anymore, now that you've both gotten older. I hope you're starting to see the truth of what Cersei is.'
Maybe he was. Maybe Jaime would realize the error of his way and abandon Cersei, sneaking away to arrive on Dragonstone's shore with all the information, supplies, and allies they'd ever need. Maybe Jaime wouldn't need to be his enemy.
'And maybe if dreams were bottles of wine, I'd never have to be sober again,' Tyrion thought bitterly, looking down at the bottle in his hand. He thought to his brother and asked again, 'Why'd you have to have to fall in love with Cersei, Jaime? Why did you have to put this burden on me? If this comes to war and Cersei loses, I don't know how I'll protect you! If you're lucky, you'll keep your life in return for taking the Black or leaving Westeros forever. Oh, how I wish I could hate you for all of this!'
And yet he couldn't. After all, during all the terrible long years of Tyrion's younger life, only Jaime had ever shown him the smallest measure of affection or respect, and for that Tyrion was willing to forgive him almost anything. Even the position he was putting Tyrion in.
The same could not be said for Cersei.
'Oh my sweet sister, you've really put us all in the shit this time, haven't you?' Tyrion thought, bitter hate and regret pooling in his stomach.
For so long, Tyrion had helped clean up Cersei and Joffrey's messes, keeping a close ear on dangerous rumors and disastrous plans. He'd smooth over the rumors, diluting them with careful half-truths, or covering them with even juicer lies. He diverted the foolish plans, sneakily redirected Cersei's attention or alerting their father of her intentions. He did his best to keep Joffrey in line, trying to slap some sense into the cruel boy. Yes, he may have done it while teasing and mocking them, but that was all in good fun, and he'd still done it. And he'd done it all for love. Or, at least, he'd done it in the vain hope that, someday, Cersei would finally let go of her unyielding hatred of him.
No more.
Who knows, maybe freed of any restraints, she would make her plans collapse upon themselves without any fighting being necessary?
No, a fool's fantasy. It's more likely they would all burn to the ground, taking everything else around her down as well. If nothing else, Tyrion knew she would not be stopped without first spreading her spiteful misery around.
'What're your plans, Cersei? Do you even have them? You never plan ahead, not really, and that has always been your downfall. You took the opportunity to grab at power, and look at what it cost you! Even under the best of circumstances, this would have never ended well. Yet this wasn't the best of circumstances, and now Little Tommen is dead. Moreover, Myrcella has fled from you, having finally seen the monster you are under all that gold and glamor. And that's your fault. It's all your fault.'
Tyrion stared down into the wine, the dark red color reminding him of what Tommen's head must have looked like when it broke against the ground. 'But I'm sure you don't care about any of that, do you? No, I'm sure you're too busy mourning Joffrey, your beloved baby monster.'
Flesh and blood or not, Tyrion did not mourn Joffrey; he could not bring himself to do so.
For all that Joffrey had been his nephew and prince and a young life, Tyrion knew something was wrong with the boy since he was young. There was no sweetness in him whatsoever, no innocence or care about anyone aside from himself. More than once, often while fixing Joffrey's mistakes or witnessing one of his tantrums, he thought that it would have been better for everyone if he'd died in his crib. Perhaps that made him a terrible man, but he'd heard that his entire life, so it had long since lost any impact.
Despite this, Tyrion also couldn't bring himself to be glad that Joffrey was dead. After all, he could only imagine the madness it would bring out in his sister.
And the grief it may cause Jaime.
A knocking at the door drew him out of his thoughts. He tensed and, out of the corner of his eye, Tyrion saw Bronn sitting up in bed. As the man started to unsheathe his dagger, a familiar voice called out.
"Lord Tyrion! Ser Bronn! Are you in? It's Jon!"
Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door with a greeting of, "Oh good, it's you. I thought someone was coming to kill me."
Rather than laugh, Jon gave him a concerned frown. "Have others been harassing you? I was worried about that possibility, that's why I came to check in."
At the worry, Tyrion felt a twinge of warmth for the young man. "Well, no one is happy to have me here, but no, they accept it well enough to not be openly hostile. At the very least, no one has threatened my life. Come in, come in."
He waved Jon inside, shutting the door behind them. Even though they were in a (marginally) safe place, Tyrion had spent far too long playing courtly games to trust that no one was listening. "I wanted to thank you again for all your aid. If not for you, I'm quite certain that I'd have ended up as shark food."
"We both would have," Bronn piped up, having returned to his relaxed position.
"Think nothing of it," Jon said. He accepted the wine offered to him. "You didn't deserve to be killed for simply being related to the wrong person."
Jon and Tyrion both cringed at the words and the unintentional meaning they held.
Jon cleared his throat, diverting the conversation into less tragic waters. "From what I can tell, most people will be heading out in two days. Will you be ready?"
"As much as I can be, though I can't claim I'm looking forward to traveling again so soon," he said. "You?"
"Same, not looking forward to being back on a boat. Though, hopefully, this trip will be a lot shorter," Jon shrugged. He looked over at Bronn, "I hadn't realized you'd be along for this adventure, Ser Bronn."
The sellsword chuckled. "Ser Bronn? I like the sound of that. And yes, so long as the Imp makes it worth my while, I'll be around."
"Well, I welcome you then. I have a feeling that we'll need all available hands, and I've heard you were successful in defending Lord Tyrion from bandits that took out his entire party, and got him out of King's Landing. If nothing else, we can't let Cersei move first, if we do then she'll have the ability to set up the playing field."
"Agreed. Which is why Bronn and I will be heading to Casterly Rock. We'll stick with the Tyrells as long as possible. Safety in numbers and all that."
"That is the hope," Jon agreed with a nod. "That and that my family will be safe whilst heading back north. As worried as I am, I keep telling myself that I need to trust that the measures I've put in place will be enough to protect them."
"Measures?" Bronn asked.
For a moment Jon hesitated in answering, no doubt wary about revealing too much information about his family's plans, even in front of believed allies.
'Smart boy,' Tyrion thought, refiling Jon's wine glass. Especially as it was his hidden tricks which had played such a pivotal role in foiling his sister's little ploy beforehand. Of course he was not so charitable as to assume she would not have made a complete mess out of things without the hidden prince's presence.
"My sister's instructor, Syrio Forel, will be going with them, and he is a swordsman of fierce renown. Him along with a few other specialized guards will be enough to handle any threat that comes their way." Jon shifted, eyes sliding around the room. "Actually, Tyrion, I was wondering if you would mind walking with me for a bit? There is something I would like to show you."
"Oh... yes, of course," Tyrion said. He wasn't a stupid man, it was easy to guess that Jon wanted to speak about more secretive matters.
He was also not the only one who picked up on such things.
"Alright, you two go have your secret fancy talk," Bronn laughed. "I'm going to catch a nap before supper and get my things together."
It occurred to Tyrion, not for the first time, that the sellsword was smarter and more aware of the goings on around him than one might guess by appearance. It was part of what made Bronn so useful, and also so potentially dangerous.
Still, he bid the man a friendly goodbye as he left the room to follow Jon through the twisting corridors and walkways of Dragonstone. When they reached what Jon must have decided was an appropriate level of isolation, he spoke up again.
"Lord Renly will stay here at Dragonstone."
"I imagined as much," Tyrion said. "I won't claim to be a healer, but even I know that you should avoid moving someone in his state as much as possible."
Jon nodded. "Yes. But Lady Valerica will also be staying, so she can continue to oversee Lord Renly's treatment."
Huh, that was strange. Tyrion could count the amount of interactions he'd had with the formidable Lady Volkihar on one hand, and while none of them had been technically unpleasant, the woman unnerved him in ways that he couldn't explain. Then again, Tyrion did know that the woman had spent most of time aboard the Bell Singer toiling away in the infirmary. Still, it seemed odd that she was willing to separate from her family.
'Perhaps Lady Serana will be staying here as well? They may see it as a safe haven, or a convenient way to escape Westeros. Even with Cersei and King's Landing being so close, Dragonstone has easy access to the sea so they could sail back to Skyrim if need be.'
"Gendry will be joining my family in the North, it seemed like the safest place for him. He considered staying here in Dragonstone, but thought that it would become messy," Jon continued.
"Matters of inheritance and power always are."
Keeping the boy far away from the trueborn Baratheons was the best way to keep him alive. More importantly, it would keep him from making enemies.
Another nod, then a pause, and, "Myra will be joining them as well... Lady Valerica insisted on it."
The announcement had Tyrion stumbling in his step, caught off guard. Hot anger cut through his body and he looked up at Jon, ready to demand what right the young man had to decide such a thing without consulting him!
But then Jon shook his head ever so slightly, his face solemn, and Tyrion's anger faded away. It was replaced by a deep sadness, a deep sadness that Tyrion could not keep Myrcella with him and that he could not protect her.
'No, I have to trust that Jon wants to keep her safe too,' he reminded himself. 'He hasn't let me down yet so, for now at least, I need to go along with it.'
Besides, there was no possible reasonable explanation for why Lady Volkihar's granddaughter would be traveling with the Tyrells and the Lannister Imp. No, people would be much more likely to believe that the woman would want her grandchild to travel with the family of her soon to be goodson.
'Myrcella managed to survive living with her mother, Joffrey, and the snakes of the royal court. She is a strong girl, just as I need to trust that Jon has her best interest at heart, I need to trust that Myrcella is strong enough to make the right choices and survive.'
No matter how much Tyrion tried to reassure himself of that, a dark voice in the back of his mind mocked that hope.
Better hope she isn't too strong. That's what gets women and girls killed. You don't little Myrcella turning into another Brave Danny Flint, do you?
Tyrion shivered and shoved the voice away. He forced a smile and a nod. "Yes, I... agree with her. That is a good solution for her."
Jon's shoulders fell slightly, giving Tyrion the impression that he'd been worried the situation would turn into a fight. He grinned and started speaking again, his voice now more relaxed.
"Enzo and I have finalized our plans to sail for Sunspear. Captain Adelaisa is taking us in the Bell Singer, reminding me once more that I am going to owe her forever when this is all done." Jon said that last part with a chuckle, but Tyrion couldn't help but agree with the statement. He owed the woman too, for the fair way she treated him on the ship, and making it clear that she would not tolerate any violence against him or Bronn. "Sam will also be joining us, though he has admitted to not caring for the heat. So I can't imagine he'll be enjoying himself in the desert. Still, I'm glad to have him along."
"You certainly won't be seeing me in Dorne anytime soon. As much as I appreciate a good bit of debauchery, heat always makes a hangover worse," Tyrion replied, only half-joking. Then a thought occurred to him. "Jon, where are we going? I understand that you wanted to get me away from Bronn to discuss... private matters, but are you taking me somewhere in particular, or are we just walking in circles."
That got him a true smile, broad and bright. "Oh, I have a surprise for you, Tyrion. And I think you'll like it."
"Truly magnificent," Tyrion breathed, eyes wide as he gawked at the little creatures in front of them. He reached out a hesitant hand, daring to let his fingers brush against the smooth, warm membrane of a wing.
"I know of your fascination with dragons, so I thought you'd like to see them before we separated again," Jon said. He leaned down, scooping up the small blue dragon and lifting it to his shoulder. Little claws dug into the cloth of Jon's tunic as the creature gained its balance before letting out a chirp, and sticking its snout into Jon's ears. After a moment of snuffling about, the dragon sneezed and pulled its head back. After a moment, it seemed to make its comfortable and Jon reached up to scratch it under the chin. "A bit of a thank you for trusting me with Myr…rrra"
The dark colored dragon —Ebony, Jon informed him— stretched out across Tyrion's boots and let out a deep breath. He reached down, stroking a fingertip down the creature's spine and admiring how the muscles and scales flexed at the touch. "They might be the most amazing thing I've ever seen."
A loud feline shriek drew their attention to the dresser Jon's pet shadowcat had been sleeping in. The third of the dragons, the gray and orange one, had found its way up next to it and decided that nipping at the feline's tail was an excellent idea. Clearly it had not considered how much larger the shadowcat was. Now pinned under a furry paw, it was letting out a series of loud, indignant clicks and squeaks that had its two siblings getting agitated.
"That ones a trouble maker," Jon sighed. He made his way over to the dresser and started separating his bickering pets. "Phantasm, that's enough! You've won, he's learned his lesson!"
He finally managed to pull the dragon away, leaving the shadowcat to scowl and hop up on a higher ledge so she could safely resume her catnap. Walking back to his armchair, Jon glanced down at the dragon in his arms and said, "You brought that on yourself, you know that right?"
The dragon let out an annoyed sounding huff.
"They keep you on your toes, I assume?" Tyrion asked, earning a loud groan.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it! They keep escaping from anything I keep them in, and will bite anything that sits still long enough!" Jon said. "I'm trying to train them though, especially now that they've started to breathe smoke. Fire will come soon, and I don't want that to get out of hand."
Tyrion thought back to the stories he heard of the destruction Aegon and his sister-wives' dragons had caused, as well as stories of the destruction of Summerhall. With a wince, he nodded. "Yes, that would be quite... unfortunate. Especially if you're on a ship."
"Excellent!" Jon returned to his seat. "What can you tell me about dragons?"
"What?"
"You said you've read most everything written about the Targaryens' dragons. It makes you the closest thing I have to an expert. So, what can you tell me about dragons?"
This was true, Tyrion had chased knowledge about dragons as enthusiastically and ravenously as he consumed wine and women, especially when he was younger. Yet in the face of actual, living dragons, it all seemed so inadequate for the situation at hand. Still he searched his mind for all the information he'd consumed over the years.
"What do you want to know?"
Jon shrugged. "Let's start with how long it will take for them to be big enough to ride."
"Hmmm... Not for some time, I'm afraid. From the stories, the dragon, Tyraxes, was about a decade old before it could carry young Prince Joffrey Velaryon for short distances. Though, from what I recall, Tyraxes was still considered too young and small for battle," Tyrion explained. "Though that isn't to say these—" he nodded to the trio of troublemaking hatchlings "—will grow at the same rate. I can tell you that having plenty of space to grow, unbound and unconfined, and plenty of meat will allow them to grow faster, stronger, and larger. They need to eat cooked meat, by the way. In time, they'll be able to hunt animals, and cook them with their own fire, but not yet."
With a nod, Jon said, "Yes, I've noticed that. They've pulled it right out of my supper. I'll make sure they have more to eat though. Gendry is working with the castle blacksmith to make a cage that I can use to transport them. It's for their own safety and necessity, but I'll make sure they can be out in the open as often as possible."
"Be careful with that," Tyrion warned. "Eventually, their scales will thicken and grow harder, harder than steel. They'll be able to melt the walls of castles with their flames. For now though, they're vulnerable, and it is up to you to protect them."
At these words, Jon pulled the dragon in his arms closer. Looking down at it, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the creature's neck. "I was like them once. Young and weak, in a place I didn't understand and was too large for me. It was only by luck, a bit of... natural skill, and the care of those around me, that I was able to survive until I could grow strong."
He looked up at Tyrion then. "I grew strong, Tyrion. Do not doubt that. I grew strong just like they—" he gestured to the dragons "—will."
A shiver went down Tyrion's spine, and he recalled for a moment his dreams of dragons coming to burn his family. In the moment, there has always been an element of guilty satisfaction in the dreams. To see those who hurt him writhe in pain as they burned. Now though... Well, he couldn't help but wonder how satisfying the fantasy would be if the fire was turned onto him.
"Are you afraid?"
Tyrion blinked, startled by the question. "Excuse me?"
"Are you afraid?" Jon asked again. "Are you afraid of everything that is happening?"
"Are you?" Tyrion replied, deflecting so he wouldn't have to give an answer that he did not yet have.
Jon frowned, brows knitting together. "I'm... afraid that I won't be able to protect my family. It feels like I'm finally growing close to them again. I don't want to lose that."
Tyrion wished he still had his wine. "How strange... I'm afraid because of my family. I'm afraid of what Cersei's actions will cost us all."
"I'm afraid of what people will want from me," Jon said, frown deepening. "Now that they know I'm... what I am. I'm afraid people will want me to be king by the value of my blood. I don't want to rule, not like this at least."
It struck Tyrion then how Jon looked somehow incredibly young and old. It was a look that he'd only ever seen from those who'd stared into the fires of tragedy and horror. It hurt him then, to admit that Jon's worries were well founded.
"I have found that the burden of duty rarely cares whether or not we wish to carry it," Tyrion replied. "No matter what happens, Cersei cannot be allowed to maintain control of the Iron Throne. Once she is gone, the realm will need a new ruler. Be it you or someone else, that much is clear. And the current list of desirable and suitable candidates is not very long."
'You would be a good king,' Tyrion thought. 'They say the best kings are the ones who do not want the crown.'
Of course, Tyrion wasn't entirely sure he wanted Jon to be king. Dangerous as the position could be, part of Tyrion still wanted Myrcella to sit upon the throne—even if her... heritage called into question how much claim she had to it. Of course, in the end it would likely be best if she did not. Her safety was his utmost priority and would continue to be for the foreseeable future. And few would be more vulnerable than a young, parentless, and unmarried girl in a position of power. Even if he was her uncle, there was little Tyrion could do to protect Mycrella in the viper's nest of King's Landing.
'If she had a husband, one with the power and allies to protect her, Myrcella may be able to not just survive, but even thrive. She is a smart girl, practical and friendly. She could be a strong ruler, if given the chance.' Tyrion glanced at Jon again, doing some quick mentally calculation of his age. 'He's older than Myrcella by several years, though Westeros has certainly seen larger age gaps. It would also seal her legitimacy.'
Jon as king could be a dangerous and currently unpredictable problem. Jon as Myrcella's loyal consort was another matter entirely.
There was also the matter of Lady Serana, Jon's soon-to-be bride. But that was a problem to be solved for another day.
"Perhaps it is good that we are afraid," Tyrion said after a long moment. "Fear can keep us cautious. Caution can keep us alive."
"It can also drive us mad," Jon replied. "You know, I have nightmares sometimes. About things that could happen, about things that have happened, battles I've been in, and things I've seen that I wish I hadn't. More than that though, I've always had nightmares about the stories I was told as a child. There were times when I was little that I'd have so many dreams about the things that lurked beyond the Wall coming to get me, that Uncle Ned considered talking me on a trip up there just to convince me there were no such dangers."
Tyrion couldn't help but snort. "You used to have bad dreams about snarks and grumpkins?"
"Don't laugh, I was a child," Jon said, fighting the urge to chuckle himself. "And no, not snarks and grumpkins. Uncle Benjen told us all sorts of stories, filling our heads with so many terrors that Uncle Ned finally put his foot down and forbade anymore stories. He claimed that all our screaming and crying was driving him and Lady Catelyn mad."
Jon pulled a hand through his hair. "Ever since I came back to Westeros, I swear that... Oh, never mind. I actually have another question for you, Lord Tyrion. If you'd be so kind."
"Of course, though I'll have to start charging you after this one," Tyrion said, half-joking. He didn't ask about what Jon had clearly wanted to say. Tyrion had his own nightmares, after all. Still, something about the young man's description of his nightmares tugged at his brain. It reminded Tyrion of what the Old Bear had told him. And his own promise to get help for the Wall.
'Now is not the time for ghost stories. My mad sister is the bigger issue. I'll consult with Lord Stark afterwards, I'm sure he'll want to keep his own house in order.'
"Tell me about the Martells," Jon said. "If I am to treat with them and make peace, I will need to know about the family. More than I already know, at least."
Tyrion let out a long, slow breath. "I can tell you that they might kill you immediately. Prince Doran Martell is a calm, intelligent man, but his younger brother is only one of those things. I'm sure you've heard stories about the infamous Oberyn Martell."
The look on Jon's face said it all. "I know that he is a well-respected warrior and scholar. I know that he reputation for both his temper and habit of poisoning those he takes issue with."
"And his sexual appetite, don't forget that," Tyrion teased. "It could be useful when you finally meet."
Jon rolled his eyes but smiled and said nothing. "I know that he has many illegitimate daughters that he dotes upon; Uncle Ned even considered trying to arrange a marriage between myself and one of them. And I know how much he loved his sister. Which... yes, means there is a good chance he'll want to kill me immediately."
"I won't lie. It's well known how furious Oberyn Martell was at the death of his sister and her children. If Jon Arryn hadn't figured out a way to make peace with Prince Doran, I have no doubt he would have fought the Crown until his death—maybe even beyond. My father claimed Oberyn Martell was half-mad, and, while I know the man only by reputation, that reputation is fierce enough that I do not doubt it.
"I fear that, if he deems you guilty for what he sees as your parents' sins, despite whatever his brother may say, he may do his best to ensure you never leave Dorne. There is a reason they call him the Red Viper of Dorne. I may not understand the full scope of your… abilities, but you'll do well to remember that vipers are deadly, dangerous, unpredictable, and they kill beasts greater than them often."
Tyrion gave a tight half-smile, "What I'm saying is… be wary."
"I will," Jon said with a thoughtful nod. "What about the rest of the family?"
Tyrion took a moment to answer, mulling thoughts over in his mind. Eventually, he said, "Prince Doran Martell is a difficult man to judge. I know he's suffered from gout for many years now, he's used it as an excuse to not travel to King's Landing on the rare occasion the Martells have been invited. It, and his lack of political moves involving the rest of Westeros, has led to some consider him weak. My father was never convinced of that though."
At the confused look on Jon's face, Tyrion continued. "He never believed Doran was willing to let the death of his family go so easily and without demands of reparation. Even the most placid of Dornish have a temper that would prevent such a thing. Moreover, somehow he kept an infamous hothead like his younger brother from taking action. No, he always suspected Doran was waiting for… something. He had no proof though. Still, if he was right, than Doran Martell might be more dangerous than his brother."
"And what of Doran's children?"
"Hmmm… His heir, Arianne Martell, is the only one of note, as Trystane is still only a boy, while Quentyn has been lying quiet. He doesn't seem to be impressive in any aspect. From what I've heard, she is stunning, keen, and calculating. Oh, and keep your wits about you with Oberyn's bastards. They are loyal to their father, and generally similar in temperament. He may use them as agents against you.
"Hmm, in fact, it's not just regular danger you need to watch out for. The Dornish have a successful history of using seduction to undermine outsiders. Although I'm sure Littlefinger tried the same with you. Spurning them might lead to shorter tempers though."
"So you're saying that I need to beware of the entire House?" Jon laughed.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I'd be up for the slaughter too."
"Surprisingly, it does not." Jon gnawed on his lower lip for a moment before speaking up again. "Perhaps if I gave them another object for their revenge, it would state their bloodlust long enough to hear my proposal."
Tyrion gave the young man a startled look. "I certainly hope you aren't looking at me!"
"What? No! Do you know anything about Amory Lorch?"
'Odd question but... ' Tyrion turned the name over in his mind. "Lorch... Lorch... He is a knight of House Lorch and bannerman of House Lannister. I've only met him a few times, and, honestly, he isn't anything impressive. My father tolerated him more than most, something that always struck me as strange because of how unintelligent Lorch is."
"Do you know where he resides now?"
"Last I heard, my father sent him to oversee the reconstruction of Harrenhal. Which, if the legends are true, means Lorch will likely be dead soon. Why?"
Jon waved him off. "I'm afraid that I will have to keep that to myself for now. All you need to know is that Ser Amory Lorch has a great debt that he needs to pay to the Martell family."
"Hmmm." For saying so little, Jon had just told him much. With how little the Martells tended to interact with the rest of Westeros, it created a very short list of grievances they could possibly have against Lorch.
'The murder of Princess Elia and her children, such a terrible thing it was.'
Technically speaking, it wasn't common knowledge who had carried out the brutal deed. That was something his father was very careful to ensure. Elia was well-liked by the people, and he hadn't wanted to deal with the mess of one of his bannermen being openly responsible for the slayings. Despite this, it was common knowledge in Casterly Rock that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son's blood and brains still on his hands. Princess Rhaenarys though, she was more of a mystery.
'Clegane is dead now. From the whispers I've heard, Jon did the deed himself and took great relish in it. If he, and the Martells, want Lorch that badly, it can only mean one thing.'
From what Tyrion knew, Lorch wasn't liked by anyone in the main Lannister House. Sacrificing him to the Martells to ensure their cooperation would be no great loss.
"As I'm sure you've heard, a Lannister always pays his debts. Therefore, I approve."
"Debts... I can't help but feel that I have my own to pay."
"How so?" Tyrion asked. Jon hadn't lived in Westeros in many years, who could he possibly owe?
Jon shrugged once again. "It was my parents who caused Robert's Rebellion, wasn't it? If they hadn't run away together, perhaps Elia and her children wouldn't have died? And, yes, I know everything is more complicated than that. Enzo and Serana have all but beaten it in my skull that I am not responsible for the actions of my parents. Yet... I suppose emotions are not logical and some guilt still remains."
"Well, there is no way for me to convince you to feel any other way than you do," Tyrion said. "But, allow me to say just one thing: being born isn't a crime. You didn't ask for your legacy anymore than I asked for my—"
He gestured to himself, earning a chuckle.
"I just—"
Without warning, the door swung open to reveal the dour face of Ned Stark, startling both men.
"Uncle, please knock next time!" Jon said. "And I thought I locked that door!"
The words stopped Stark in his tracks. He shifted uncomfortably, "I asked one of the head servants for the extra key. I was worried I might not be able to get in if something happened to you."
Jon frowned, clearly displeased. "Ah. Still, please knock next time."
The Lord of Winterfell said nothing for a tense moment, instead shifting his attention to Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion, I hope you are well."
The man's voice was as frosty as his homeland. It was clear that, though Stark had voted in Tyrion's favor, there was no trust or lost love between.
"As well as I can, given the circumstances at least."
"Excellent. Excellent. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to speak with my son. Privately."
Jon didn't look all that thrilled at the prospect of such a thing. Still, it wasn't Tyrion's place to get in the middle of family drama. The one he was born to was bad enough. He got up, carefully pulling his feet out from under the still-snoozing hatchling dragon, and patted Jon on the knee.
"I'll make a list of different texts that you may find useful," he said. "There are a few more common ones that they may even have in this castle's library."
"Thank you, Lord Tyrion. It's been excellent speaking with you."
"And you as well."
Jon smiled at him then, looking like a young man once more. Stark, however, merely scowled when Tyrion squeezed past.
'Oh, working together will be so much fun.'
Jon XV
Jon bit his tongue to avoid immediately bringing up the subject of the extra key his uncle had gotten to his room without permission or consultation. If they were parting ways again soon, it would do no good to spend these final days fighting or being angry with one another.
"Have the preparations been going well?" he asked, though he already knew. Jon had been helping oversee them, and what he wasn't there for, Arya told him about.
His uncle nodded. "Yes. Lady Shir—Lady Baratheon is being generous by lending us a ship to return to Winterfell. We will be in her debt."
"Maybe she sees doing so as paying off a debt for helping her escape King's Landing?" Jon suggested. "Or perhaps it is simply out of the goodness of her heart."
The cynical part of Jon doubted it. People, especially those in power, rarely did anything just because. Yet, Shireen Baratheon was still young, so perhaps there was hope for her.
"How does Arya feel about all this? Is she getting her things together?" His little sister hadn't been happy the last time they spoke; she seemed torn about between wanting to return to Winterfell, and wanting to stay with him. "Sansa too. I know she's been... emotional."
Uncle Ned sighed. "Arya isn't happy about separating again. 'The lone wolf dies and the pack survives,' she keeps telling me. She won't admit it, but she is terrified that she'll never see you again."
'No matter how tough Arya acts, she is still a sweet little girl on the inside,' Jon thought fondly, hiding his smile. "She need not worry, I'm hard to kill."
"We all think that, right up to the point we're in our grave." Before Jon could respond, Uncle Ned continued on. "Sansa is... Sansa. She's still crying, and throwing fits whenever I try to talk to her. I want to help her, but I wonder if that will do any good in the long run. Maybe... Maybe it would be better to let her figure this out herself?"
"Tough love has its place in the world," Jon agreed. "I had to learn to survive on my own in Skyrim, and it made me all the stronger for it. Now, I'm not saying we drop Sansa in a far-off land alone and without any coin to her name, but forcing her to solve problems on her own might do her good in the long run."
"That is, if we all..." Uncle Ned trailing off. Not wanting to speak the words into being. Jon understood, more than any of the living Starks, his uncle had lost much to war and conflicts. Now that he had children of his own, the Warden of the North was undoubtedly terrified that his children would soon join his brother, sister, and father in the Winterfell Crypts.
"Serana will protect you all," Jon said, hoping to provide some comfort. "I wouldn't have agreed to let you all sail off alone to Winterfell if she didn't agree to go with you."
"And I'm happy to have her along for the extra protection. I won't claim to understand all this... magic business and I'm not even sure what Lady Serana is, yet I can tell that she is a more than capable fighter. And I'm not going to argue with having someone like that by my side. Even if I get the sneaking suspicion that she doesn't like me."
'She doesn't,' Jon thought. He wouldn't say it outloud —why risk creating any potential animosity between future protector and protectee?— but there was no use pretending in the safety of his own mind. And he didn't even want to begin dealing with the fact that his uncle had begun suspecting that Serana wasn't human. "You should ask her to spar against you. Serana is trained to use a short sword, but tends to neglect keeping her blade sharp, so to speak. And having a skilled opponent might motivate her to break it out."
"...I used to train a bit with Lyanna when we were both little," his uncle said after a moment. "That's why I could never bring myself to punish you for sparring with Arya. It reminded me of the past far too much."
A silence lapsed between them as they couldn't help but think of what had been, and what could never be again.
After a moment, Uncle Ned seemed to shake himself back to the present. "Aye, that is a good idea. I'm afraid that I've been slacking in my own sparring as well. With what is to come, I need to be as sharp as possible."
"Syrio will be there as well. I know he will be spending most of his time training Arya —something that will continue, no matter what you say. I will be firm on that— but I can't imagine he'll turn down the chance to spar if offered. Even if his style of swordplay is far different from yours, it is always worth expanding your abilities."
Especially, as Uncle Ned had put it, with what is to come.
"I also have an important favor to ask of you," Jon said. He reached out to take his father's hand, looking him in the eye. "Take care of Myra. She is deeply important to both of us."
"Yes, of course. I'll treat her as I would any other child in my care," his uncle replied. "She will be your family soon, which means she will be mine. Rest assured, I will protect her."
'And, if nothing else, Ned Stark always strives to protect his children. For better or for worse,' Jon thought, reminding himself that Serana and Syrio would be there to keep things together. "Thank you. She has... been through much in these past months. It's why she stayed with her grandmother and away from the Red Keep."
An easy lie, one of many they'd concocted to stitch together a backstory for the suddenly appeared Myra Volkihar. If there was one thing Jon regretted about this entire situation, it was that Arya had to play along with it all. They'd tell his uncle eventually, though Jon wanted to be sure it was safe first.
"Thank you," he said, forcing a smile. 'Here I am, lying to you like you lied to me for most of my life. And we both did it for the good of a vulnerable child. What does that mean? I will admit that I understand you better now.'
Jon released his uncle's hand and sat back in his armchair. "So, are you looking forward to going back to Winterfell?"
That seemed to break the tension. Uncle Ned smiled, "Not looking forward to the long boat trip, but aye, I am excited to see everyone again. I keep thinking of poor Robb, stuck dealing with matters I did not properly prepare him for. I hope to lessen the burden he must be feeling right now. As much as I hope that full out war does not break out, I need to take control of the North and assemble the proper reinforcements. But, even more than that, I just want to see my family and home. I miss them all. Bran and Rickon won't be small for so much longer, and I want to be able to enjoy it."
"I miss them too," Jon admitted. "More than I thought I would. It's strange, as I've been away for so long in Skyrim that you'd think a few months away would be nothing. And yet, I still think about the boys and Robb every time I close my eyes at night."
His uncle nodded in agreement before wincing. "I want to see Cat too. We did not part on good terms, something we both have fault in. I have... mistakes I need to apologize for, and problems that I need to fix."
"Me," Jon said, his face carefully blank.
"...My lies concerning you," Uncle Ned replied. "I'm not sure I can ever fully regret them, not in the sense that I did them to protect you, and I will never regret that. Yet I do regret all the pain they've caused, for Cat, our children, and you most of all. And now I must do everything I can to fix what I have broken. If we are to survive the coming storm, then our pack cannot be divided, in loyalty if not distance. I also need to speak with her about what to do about Sansa. I allowed Cat to oversee Sansa's upbringing and training, Arya's too for that matter. And while I thought nothing of it at the time —it is simply how things are done in the South— something clearly went wrong. Something that we need to fix."
'No kidding. If Sansa is allowed to continue the way she was, she'll get herself killed.' On that matter of Lady Catelyn, Jon merely nodded. "Lady Catelyn is your wife. It is only natural that you wish to see her again."
And that was all he was going to say on the subject. Instead, he steered the conversation to the only topic possibly more uncomfortable: future rulers of Westeros.
"Who do you think will lead when all is said and done?" he asked. "Cersei cannot be allowed to stay on the Iron Throne for long, that much is clear. But what about afterwards?"
"That is... a good question. When the time comes, I can only imagine that there will be squabbles for power, especially if there are no concrete plans." Uncle Ned gave Jon a curious glance. "Do you want to be king? I would back you, if that is what you want."
Jon nearly cringed at the idea. "Do you want to be king?"
The look on his uncle's face made him laugh. "Then we are in agreement on how terrible it sounds. No, I just want to go back to Skyrim when this is all over. Being king would drive me mad. I have a good life there; busy and occasionally stressful, yes, yet one I am happy with. There are still things I want out of it, mostly a wife and children. But those are things I cannot accomplish while staying here in Westeros."
"As much as it will hurt to see you leave once more, I will not argue with your logic. If the gods are good, then I will be able to return home and grow old surrounded by my children and grandchildren," Uncle Ned said. "Still, where does that leave Westeros? Everyone else undoubtedly has their own plans for candidates and marriages. I hope you're ready to deal with all of that."
"Oh, trust me, I've been dealing with it for many years now."
His uncle had a point though. Who else was there? Shireen didn't want the throne either. There was no guarantee that Renly would awaken in time to lead, or that he would still have the mental faculties to do so. Would it be right to hand the kingdom over to one of Robert's completely unprepared illegitimate children? That could leave the other houses to scrabble for power and that never when well. And what about his remaining Targaryen relatives? No, of course not. Not only did Jon not know where they were, he knew nothing about them! They could be terrible people, unsuited for ruling. And, even if they did have any interest in the throne, they were strangers to the people of Westeros, who may only know them as the children of the Mad King. More than that, they would likely have little in the way of major local support to back them up.
As much as Jon did not want to be forced into ruling a kingdom so far from the place and people he loved, could he truly just abandon it to potentially fall into chaos yet again? If things came down to it, could he set aside his desires for the good of many?
"Part of me wishes it wasn't our job to decide such things," he eventually said. "After all, why should I have any say in who rules when I won't even be living in Westeros for much longer?"
"Who should then? The gods?" Uncle Ned asked.
Jon snorted and shook his head. "Oh no, that never ends well. Perhaps... Perhaps there is a way for the people to have a say in such things. That is how they decide leadership up at the Wall, isn't it? The members of the Night's Watch vote on who they want for the Lord Commander?"
"Aye, but that is a small, isolated community, with people of all ranks origins thrown together. Implementing a system like that on such a large scale would be incredibly difficult. Perhaps impossible."
"The most worthwhile things in life often are," Jon said, looking down at the dragon still in his arms. On his shoulder, Blue shifted to start nosing at his hair again.
The pair laps into a comfortable silence then, simply taking solace in each other's presence. After some time, Ebony even hopped up into Uncle Ned's and settled in for another nap.
'Fat, lazy lizard,' he thought affectionately, grinning as his uncle started to absentmindedly stroke the hatchling as he would a housecat.
Jon had gotten so comfortable by the silence that he was startled when Uncle Ned spoke up once more.
"Let's all survive this, Jon. I understand that you will not be staying in Westeros permanently, but I don't want to say goodbye to you again. Not forever, at least."
A rush of warmth filled Jon, though it was tainted with sadness. Eddard Stark had his own demons, just like Jon, and he was afraid of losing his family to them.
He leaned forward, meeting the man's eye. "Fa—Uncle, I'll promise you this. No matter what happens, you will not have to bury me."
"...Do not make promises you cannot keep, Jon. My brother swore he would not die too, and we both know what happened to him."
NEXT CHAPTER: Jon and Enzo find an interesting memory from the Targaryens of the past. Serana comes face to face with the Red Woman. Margaery struggles to find her footing.
Could anyone tell that I REALLY like writing Cersei's POV?
So this chapter went through an interesting development, which is part of the reason it took so long. I had to change around the outline twice, and then it ended up being wayyyyyy longer than I thought. That led to this and the next chapter being separated into two parts. Then, like I said, COVID.
Lots of character introspection in this and the next chapter. I know that's boring for some but I think it is good to know where everyone's mind is when everything erupts.
Anyway, I guess I'll see you in another couple of months. Ta-ta for now!
