The last time Cersei had ridden into Winterfell, the ground had rumbled with the clamor of hooves against the cold, hard ground of stone and dirt. Now, each horse's trot was muffled by a blanket of fresh snow, plums of the icy white powder formed clouds behind her carriage. The dusting of snow was blinding as she looked back in her wake, her armies lost in the distance. It left her feeling alone in the cold, in the chill that left her shivering as the words of House Stark echoed like a ghostly whisper in her mind, Winter is Coming .
It wasn't just coming. It had arrived, and with it came the dangers that had once been contained by The Wall. Dangers that she would have never believed if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. Even then she had been in denial, unwilling to side with Ned Stark's Bastard and his Dragon Queen.
They had asked for her aid, for her army.
She had promised them her men, but she wasn't to send them.
Cersei was to remain in the warm safety of King's Landing, travel further South if she needed, with her men and was to wait out the winter and it's Night King. In time, she was sure he would solve each and all of her problems. The Targaryen and her Dragons, what was left of the Starks and their Wolves, would be gone and come Spring she would have no one left to challenge her for the Iron Throne.
But, then Jaime left.
In the cover of night he had left her and their unborn baby that grew in her belly. She had yet for her belly to swell back then, the subtle roundness so easily hidden beneath her gowns. But now, after an entire moon-turn of riding on the King's Road there was no hiding their child beneath her gown or cloaks.
On her hands, Cersei wore a delicate pair of gloves. Warm, and intricate in their design. Yet, she could still feel the flutter of her child in her belly as he hand stroked over her stomach. It was a comfort to feel the baby move as she heard the heavy gates of Winterfell part for her carriage and her men.
There was no roar of excitement this time. No crowds of Northman and their families to greet her as they once had their King. They had a new King now, and it was not Robert. And while she was the Queen of the Iron Throne, they did believe her to be their queen.
And they didn't need to. For now, all they needed to see was an alley. Retaking the Northern Kingdom could come later.
The carriage stilled in the courtyard, the cold north wind continued to whistler around her. It rocked the carriage in place, earning a displeased knicker from the horses. They craved the warmth of the Southern sun just as she did. But the North had one thing the sun couldn't give her.
Jaime .
Drawing up her hood, a single hand raised up to hold her cape closed at her neck. The other reached out to the doorway of her carriage and used it to support her as she stepped out into the crisp chill of Winterfell. Cersei's breath left her lips in clouds, the cold worse than she could have imagined even after nights of sleeping in ill heated inns of the back of her carriage when she grew desperate to rest.
She could have stayed back at the Red Keep, where the cold would only come at night when the fires of her bed chambers reduced to embers. She could have waited on her throne, and sent her men to the North where they would fight as her envoy. There was no telling how many she could lose without her leadership, but she would have men and more when Euron returned from Essos with the Gold Company. But this was greater than herself. They needed to see her there, cold in the snow, a Lion among Wolves, willing to join their forces no matter the sacrifice for the safety of her child.
For Jamie's child.
They would be the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but they would need Kingdoms to lead.
The snow was crisp beneath her boots as she stepped out into the courtyard. Beneath it, slick ice that left her under the threat of falling if it hadn't been for her Queen's guard who lingered near. With the reach of a single hand they grasped her arm, holding her steady on her feet until she found her bearing.
Cersei stood up tall, looking out over the small group that had gathered to greet her. Though it wasn't the welcome she had once had. There was no excitement, only obligation as three Starks stood where there once was eight.
She could see it before her as if it were yesterday.
The youngest Stark, Ricken had stood timidly beside his mother, Catlyn Stark. Her Lord stood beside her, his face calm but eyes excited to see his old friend and King. The rest of their children stood beside him. Robb was tall and proud, and Sansa excited, young and beautiful beside him. Then there had been Arya and Bran, both small and boyish that she didn't care to try to tell them apart if she had bothered to look beyond the young girl's gowns.
Now, there was only Sansa - still just as beautiful but her features free of naivety - and the boy that had been cast aside, lost in the crowd because of the dishonor his Lord Father had brought to his House. Jon Snow. Just behind them, was Bran, crippled now, and confirmed to a wheeled chair that seemed to struggle to push through the deepening snow.
They were her welcome party.
Not even the Dragon Queen had come to welcome her. To thank her for her support, and her coming sacrifice in the battles to come.
Cersei scoffed.
Drawing back her hood, Cersei looked up at the common folk that gawked down at her from above. She spotted familiar faces among them. Theon Greyjoy, once a ward, a traitor and now again an alley to the Starks. And Arya - the sight of the girl left Cersei's blood as cold as the winter around her. For so long she thought the young Stark girl was dead, but she was one of the few that remained. And if her looks could kill, Cersei would be dead.
She had done the very thing they had asked of her, and yet, they didn't want her there.
Cersei kept her head high as she approached the Starks, looking from Sansa, to Jon, then Bran before she looked to the one who had done more than earned their title. She looked not the bastard, or the cripple, but to Lady Sansa.
For many moons, Cersei had watched as Sansa grew from but a girl to a bride. She had been Joffrey's sweet betrothed, blinded by the love and the promise of being queen. And for a time, they had even been sisters - maybe by the gods, they still were - but Sansa was very much the Lady of Winterfell now. Cersei could see it in the cold stare of her statuesque features, in her poise, and her patience. While Jon's hand rested cautiously over the hilt of his sword, Sansa hand rested calming over one another above her skirts.
Cersei mirrored her, her hands coming from beneath her cloak, showing off the obvious swell of her pregnant belly, before caressing it slowly. Silently she told everyone, you execute me here, you kill my baby.
The two shared a strong look of caution, of respect and understanding. Cersei had kept her promise, and for that her safety would be assured.
She was a guest in Winterfell.
Cersei nodded slowly, her lips parting to offer her words when a sight just beyond Lady Stark left Cersei's heart racing. Through one of the gates was Jaime. He stood there, frozen like the world around them for a moment before he was running to her. Crowds parted in front of him as he ran to her.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and froze before they could hit her cheeks. The cold was numbing, her body near trembling with excitement only to find calm in the warmth of his embrace. She clung to him desperately, her face burying into his neck with little regard to the small audience around them.
Their love had started a war, now it would end it.
"You came," his hot words melted every chill before it could try to take her.
Cersei's hand found his arm, and guided his hand to her belly carefully. She wanted her to feel the little flutters he had missed when he was gone. He needed to feel the very reason they needed to win this war. They were to be a family, together, again.
"You left."
She was void of his warmth for only a moment as Jaime drew back, his hand still on her belly while the other, colder, golden glove rested on the peak of her hip. Cersei felt the warmth of his fingers blossom over her belly as his smile grew and his eyes softened. Then, there where all he could see, Jaime leaned in and kissed his queen.