A Song of Salt and Smoke
Extended Summary: Married at the Rock instead of the Capital, King Robert & Queen Cersei produce an heir as true a Baratheon as ever been born, this is the tale of how a crown prince of the Iron Throne shall be remembered for all time, and establish a dynasty to last a thousand years, he is Aegon Baratheon and his is the song of Salt and Smoke. A storm is raging and the Cold Winds Are Rising.
Warning: This story is M-rated for a reason, it contains adult themes and coarse language. Seriously, don't read this, if you're squeamish and prone to prudishness.
F.Y.I: Yes, there is another story on this site with the same name with just -GoT attached, it's mine, I'll delete the copy when FF merges the GoT/ASOIAF threads. Seriously, same material, Harry Potter isn't split between the books and the movies.
Chapter 1 – Lightning Crashes
Cersei
The rain was coming down in black sheets like it had for hours, making a ceaseless racket as the droplets crashed down on the roof of her wheelhouse. Still, she'd managed to make use of the roaring booms of thunder, putting her handmaidens to work counting the seconds between the cracks of lightning so she could keep track of the time between her contractions. T'was all they were good for, frightened hens chirping and huddling together as soon as she had worked out that they were moving deeper into the storm.
Cersei was not bothered by the deafening blaring or the blinding flashes of light that came with every other shock, no it was the endless clatter of rain falling all around her that threatened to blot out her thoughts and in effect end any chance of getting her mind off her predicament.
A great storm had plagued them for days, the worst she had ever seen and beyond what she thought possible this long into summer. The conditions outside only seemed to worsen the closer they got to the city.
With another crack of thunder yet another wave of excruciating pain shot through her, up her back to her belly forcing an agonized scream out of her mouth. The hens flocked around where she laid back huffing and puffing, flapping their gums and spouting utter drivel. One of them even dared to try and grab her hand.
She could hardly decide what bothered her more; the pain or the company. Of course, being surrounded by imbeciles only exasperated her distress. She would feel much better if Aunt Genna was here with her or Jaime…
But Robert, fool that he was, had spirited him away as soon as he heard her water had broken. Custom, he called it, Baratheon men go hunting when their wives bring their children into the world he'd said, and he would do as his father did and his before him. Not that it bothered Cersei that her husband was not by her side, in fact it would have delighted her had the drunken sot not taken her other half with him. A knight of the Kingsguard was needed at the king's side and their ranks had been depleted in the Rebellion and Robert was still mourning the dozen or so friends the Lord Commander had slain on the Trident.
And so Selmy found himself in the wheelhouse with the womenfolk, no doubt cross at the slight while her brother was probably soaking wet and freezing wandering about the Kingswood.
Even then, Jaime was not expected to be at her side. Men were not typically allowed near a birthing bed due to some superstitious nonsense the hens had dreamed up, though she would have liked to see them try to stop Jaime. Still, she wanted to have Genna with her, the woman who had been like a mother to her since her true mother perished in childbirth. The memory made her clutch her belly with dread, the thought of her baring a monster terrified her more than anything, even more than the thought of baring Robert's spawn.
But Genna was back at the Rock with her own dolt of a husband and so she was attended to by Robert's cousins, the wives and daughters of his cousins, and even more treacherous hens from the Stormlands.
Mayhaps she had already died and this was hell.
As if to remind her that she was still among the living, another bout of pain took its course through her trembling body, pushing the air out of her lungs in a gasp.
"Deep breaths, Your Grace," one of the hens told her, "in through your nose and out through your mouth, in and out." She barely recognized the girl as the wife of the Estermont heir, with that shit-coloured hair and bug eyes - clearly one of Robert's cousins. Cersei wanted to tell her to go get struck by lightning but it hurt too much to talk so she just glared and tried to breathe.
The girl was set to be her child's wet nurse, having borne a son of her own not three moons past back at the Rock where she had come for the wedding. Cersei scoffed at the memory of her wedding and the nightmare that was her marriage. She'd only married Robert at the Rock instead of the Capital because Father had wanted the new king to come to him for a bride as he was not willing to return to King's Landing lest it was to be named Hand. Of course, the desires of her father had never been so trivial to be compared to the passing fancies of others.
Their marriage was one of necessity. The capital was in tatters and the royal treasury empty as a result, by her father's hand; half the realm was still held by loyalists, and the great houses owed no real loyalty to the new regime. The only thing that could mend the realm back together was an alliance between Casterly Rock & Storm's End, a union of the Lion & Stag.
At least it had been a grand affair, lords from all across Westeros had attended, all the lords who had fought with the rebels and many of those who had fought against them, the ones still alive at least. Practically her entire house had come, filling the Golden Gallery to capacity while Robert brought only his youngest brother and his fellow fosterling while Jon Arryn was seeing to affairs in Dorne as Stannis readied the new fleet to assault Dragonstone.
Oh, how excited she had been to see her promised groom. Cersei had not been disappointed – not at first. She had swooned like a little girl when he had first rode through the Lion's Mouth, climbing the steps of the Rock as he made his way toward her, tall and powerful and black-bearded and hers by oath.
She had scarce ever been happier than when he draped that heavy black cloak of his and its golden stag on her shoulders and kissed her for the first time, save perhaps when she knelt to be crowned the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
All she had wanted then was to let their love blossom, to live a long and happy life together as they ruled the realm side by side, bearing him heirs and raising their children.
What a fool she'd been...
"Halt!" came an order from atop the ramparts of the Lion's Gate and the forty horses drawing them skirted to a slow trot, even then they all still felt the floor shake beneath them as the wheels ground to a stop.
Ser Barristan exited the wheelhouse, presumably to inform the Captain of the Gate of her presence and to let them pass. When Barristan returned, she noticed that he was not drenched by rain like expected but was instead bone dry. It was then she noticed that the eye of the storm had passed over King's Landing.
From her bed, she heard the creaking of the hinges on the gates and the clinking of chains as the portcullis was raised. It struck her as odd when shouting erupted all around her from a swath of people enveloping the wheelhouse. At first, she thought they might want to see the source of the commotion but when the hens looked out the window they found that a whole host of people were actually fleeing the city for some reason.
It seemed like madness to her, to flee the safety of the city into a storm. She didn't have time to ascertain the sense in their actions when the pain returned and she started screaming for them to start moving again.
Having made their way through the cobblestone streets toward the Red Keep, it'd been no trouble to notice that the city was in an uproar.
As they approached the massive curtain walls of pale red stone, the wheelhouse once again skidded to a halt.
"Your Grace, we have arrived." Clucked one of the hens, looking at Cersei like it was supposed to mean something.
"Do you expect her to walk all the way to Maegor's in this state? Foolish girl." The oldest midwife, who passed for wise among the small-folk, scoffed shaking her wrinkled head as she reprimanded the dolt.
Cersei was furious, "I did not travel a hundred leagues, flat on my back, just so I could give birth in a carriage." she tried to shuffle to the bedside but was stopped by another fit of harrowing cramps.
"Your Grace," Ser Barristan knelt before her, "If it please you, I might carry you to your chambers."
The prospect did not please her but she saw precious little alternative, so she acquiesced with a nod. He took the queen into his arms as softly as he could with his hands in gauntlets while the hens shouted "Gently! Gently!", she wrapped one of her arms around his neck leaving the other to lay on her belly in a silent plea to her unborn child to bare with her for the time being.
He carried her out of the wheelhouse and she caught the first glance of the Capital since she'd last been in the city when her father was still the Mad King's Hand and well before the city had been sacked, the scars of which were still on display. In the distance, where the hills of Visenya and Rhaenys ought to be, she glimpsed a myriad of swirling lights dancing across the city's rooftops in bright and brilliant reds and yellows, orange… and green. She did not get the chance to look overlong as before she knew it, Barristan was carrying her through a portcullis near the great bronze gates that had been opened specifically for them to prevent the horde of smallfolk battering them from rushing inside.
He was walking with purpose but was careful not to trip and drop her as they made their way past the massive dry moat lined with iron spikes into the castle within the castle, rushing across the drawbridge and through the company of knights guarding it, the hens chasing after them like she was a bag of feed.
Tilting her head back, she saw the eye of the storm was closing as it encroached ever closer to the Red Keep.
Passing through the Queen's… her Ballroom and hopping up the stairs to the royal apartments, another contraction came as she was still in the Kingsguard's grip, she roared into his ear squeezed so hard she feared he might collapse but he paid her no heed even as she tried to mutter a token apology in a tired voice. She could scarcely see his face beneath his helm but she heard his worried breathing as he trotted along, white cape swaying with each step.
Finally, they reached her chambers, Barristan kicked the door down and regretted it immediately when she barked at him for squeezing her as his foot struck oak.
Funneling into the large quarters, the old woman started barking orders, nearly drowned out by the rattling of the window shutters in the face of the storm, she had Barristan place her down on the bed, one maid to light the hearth and another to fetch water. After the Lord Commander did so, he stood still, frozen stiff with a confused look etched on his face.
"Out, out, this is no place for men!" Commanded the old shrew to the Lord Commander, the stupid look on his face turned to relief as the midwives shooed him from the room into the hallway to guard the door.
Lying back on the birthing bed covered in silks of Lannister crimson, just as likely put there to hide the blood as to show her family colours, Cersei could not help but reminisce about how she had fallen into this fate.
Robert had played the gracious king that day even as deep into his cup as he was. Gallant and gregarious, full of valour and courtesy and lust for her. The way he stared at her with those Baratheon blues as if he was a predator and she - his prey. It both excited her and frightened her, she remembered comparing his gaze to the Sunset Sea coming to claim her in the evening as the tide rose to carry her away into the dark, deep ocean while the sun retreated behind the horizon.
'Yes, it was just like that. With the tingle that had gone up her spine, rough, ragged, and… irresistible.'
By the time for the bedding had come, she was itching to prove to him she was no prey but a lioness, fierce and more than ready to sink her teeth into him. And then there had been no bedding for her, nor should anyone have expected such a thing to take place in Lord Tywin's hall. Father would not permit the drunken dredges to clutch at her smallclothes, especially not after the memory of what the Mad King Aerys had done with her mother still fresh in his mind.
She had drunk more than her usual fill of wine from the nervousness of it all but it did not stop her from marching boldly to her new husband to find that the women of court hadn't been prohibited as their male counterparts had been, a gaggle of them had crowded around him and torn through the garments he had worn to the feast, grabbing at him wantonly and making lewd japes. Robert hadn't minded in the least, he'd had nothing to hide and all the more reason to be proud.
In time, she would come to think that mayhaps he simply lacked any sense of shame but in the heat of the moment, she could not look away and nor could he from her even though she was covered from head to toe by her wedding dress and wrapped in the heavy bride cloak he had draped over her earlier.
He plowed through them then and took Cersei into his arms and she had been quick to wrap hers around his shoulder and bury her face in the crook of his neck as he carried her to their chambers.
The rest was a haze that she could scarce remember save for a wretched little; it had hurt at first but she came to enjoy it as he continued to her eternal regret. What she could recall was the way she felt his dark coarse hair rub against her skin through the threads of the pearl silk she'd worn and how his eyes, every bit as bright and blue as a mountain lake bored into hers.
It had been pleasant… for a short while. Until his heavy breathing gave way to grunting moans, leaning into her he blasted out a great roar and-
The lock holding together the shutters that had been clattering so obnoxiously since they entered finally gave way and through them burst a hale of rain, wind, and smoke. The hens flew into a frenzy as if a fox had entered their pen, hastening to bar the windows shut.
'It's so dark.' The smoke was far darker than the usual pale grey that rose from chimneys. It smelt of rust and rot and shit. She wasn't sure whether to gag or choke. A light shone through the window, not the familiar glow of a full moon that was by now blotted out by dark clouds but a foreign, sallow green. That lit the room in a sickening gloom not dissimilar to her morning complexion of late.
The hens could not manage to close it themselves and so they decided to wait for their cocks. Better to suffocate in the cold and damp than exert oneself. Nor would they call Ser Barristan in either as she was still splayed out on her bed and it was better that she die alongside them from exposure lest a man witness the horror of childbirth and drop dead from fright. With that, the windows were left open and puddles were allowed to form at the base of her bed, the booms of thunder now able to echo through her chamber, and the distant sparks of lightning their sole source of illumination after all their candles had been extinguished.
With the storm came more pain, threatening to tear in two. Despite herself, tears were spilling from her eyes. Cersei would never mention it to any living soul, not even Jaime, but she knew not if she was crying from the pain or the fear. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the deathbed that had been her mother's birthing bed.
"You're nearly there, Your Grace. Not much longer now." the hen whose hair laughably resembled that of a rooster and had the breast to match exclaimed.
"What's your name?" she asked between beaten breaths.
"Senelle, Your Grace." the busty maid answered.
"Be quiet, Senelle," she ordered, receiving a quick nod in compliance. 'The sole servant I am allowed to accompany me from the West and I am burdened with you.'
Had Robert left it at his pitiable shout, her marriage might have been saved and she still would be blissfully ignorant of the oaf she had wed. But as it was, such a thing was not meant to happen.
After Robert had split his seed inside her but before he rolled over on his side, he pressed his forehead to hers, and just as she was about to profess her newfound love for him, he whispered the words that had sealed her fate and his. "Lyanna..."
With that, her heart froze. The Stark bitch. His late, lost betrothed. Cersei was a living girl and he would rather fantasize about a corpse. He had the most beautiful woman in the world for a wife and yet all he wanted was a stupid little girl that had probably been taken time and time again by the last dragon.
As much as she might have wished otherwise, it hurt to think that it was the Stark girl and not herself he dreamed about as he slept beside her, snoring like a beast all the while. Cersei had not slept that night, she had pulled her gown down as far it would stretch in a futile attempt to cover her nakedness, pulled the blankets close to her chest, and wept as she tried in vain to forget what he had said and ignore the soreness between her legs.
When the next morning came, he woke somewhat spectacularly free of the sickness that tended to plague those who had drank heavily the night before and decided to go hunting with his dearest friend, Lord Stark, and her brother whose company she had wished for more than anything. Instead, she feigned illness and sought the comfort of Aunt Genna, who had come to her shortly after Robert & his party had departed to hold her tightly as she whispered assurances to her like she had foreseen it all. 'Your sons will be princes, your daughters princesses and you will be queen.' Genna's words stuck with her even if she could not. That would have to be enough… for now.
It was not long after months of wearing black, being sick in the morning, and craving peaches did Maester Creylen finally came to her rooms and confirmed that she was indeed with child, and now it seems, that her fate had indeed been sealed that night.
"You must push, Your Grace." one of the midwives 'instructed'.
"What do you think I'm doing, fool? Knitting?" she bit back in anger.
She had never intended to carry Robert's child to term. It had only been an unfortunate series of events and several setbacks that prevented her from cleansing herself of his spawn. At first, it had been the long delay they had spent at the Rock, the capital still wasn't entirely secure following the sack, and with loyalists only a few days sail away on Dragonstone, no place for the royal family. Not that Robert was in any rush to take on the responsibilities of court, he was perfectly content to spend his days drinking, hunting, and whoring. She knew there was no hope of finding such relief within Casterly Rock, her father had made spies of all the apothecaries in Lannisport and no one would dare try to smuggle Moon Tea past the watchful eye of Tywin Lannister, even at the point of Jaime's sword.
By the time the other Baratheon brother had raised a fleet to assault the Targaryen stronghold and thus allow them to begin their journey, she had blown up heavy with child requiring they take their time lest they harm the child. The irony did not escape her.
She knew the journey from Casterly Rock to King's Landing had never been a short one, but with the sheer size of their party, the sluggish pace of the wheelhouse, and the priority on the child's safety, it had turned what should have been a weeks-long trip into one that had taken months. And that was before the storm had hit them outside the capital, with that the very ground beneath went against them slowing them down even further and there being no other way of getting her to the Red Keep without the cumbersome wheelhouse that had been bogged down in the mud. With each new day of travel, her window closed more and more, and with it the leech Robert had implanted her with grew.
And now it was too late. She could scarce send Jaime to find somebody to help her while he was in the Kingswood and even if she could trust Pycelle to procure something for her, he was her father's creature first and foremost, who'd no doubt inform him of her actions with the next raven he sent west. House Lannister had waited centuries to wed into royalty. They wanted a queen, and queens must bear their kings' heirs, or else they were not truly queens. It would not do for Tywin Lannister's daughter to shirk from her duty to the family.
Soon it would all be over. She was destined to bear Robert's child this night. After that, well – it would be far too dangerous to kill an infant in its crib.
But now, it seems that her prayers to the Seven had only angered them, and now instead of Robert's spawn, the Stranger had come to take her instead.
"Deep breaths, Your Grace. You're almost done." the intended wet nurse told her once again.
Cersei turned to the girl and gave her a glare as hard as she could muster in her current state "Tell me how to breathe one more time and I'll have your lungs torn out through your nostrils." she promised and sent the twit scuttling off behind a closet.
She convulsed again in agony, a burning almost stabbing feeling erupted from within her thighs and threatened to deafen herself with the shriek she let free.
No, this would not beat her. She was a lioness of the Rock! She refused to succumb to the pain, she would not join her mother in the afterlife just yet. "You're crowning, Your Grace! Come on, one last push!" the older midwife cried in excitement.
Desperate for it to be over, she obliged and pushed with all her might, letting loose a roar to match any lion's. Her nether regions had gone numb apart from the paralyzing sensation of pain, so she knew not if she had succeeded until the midwives started hollering and thanking the Gods which she took as a good sign that she was indeed finished. And aside from the sheer debilitating soreness left, the worst of it had passed.
But then they all went quiet. Though the room was by no means silent with the storm invading her chambers through the window. It was nothing like she expected, there was no congratulations or flapping of the gums from the hens, nor the crying of a babe. 'How could that be? Babes cry, 'tis the way of such things.'
She lifted her head up off the pillow and exhausted turned to the girl holding her child and saw the stupid look on her face, utterly lost. It would not do.
"Give them to me," Cersei commanded in a tired voice. It mattered not if the child was stillborn or a monster like Tyrion, she would deal with it herself. Perhaps the Gods had been good indeed and the price she'd just paid had been worth it.
"Your Grace…" Senelle started, but she would not have it. She wanted obedience, not pitiful apologies or idiotic explanations.
"Give them to me," she repeated, leaving no room for argument, and stretched out her arms to receive the babe wrapped in its swaddling.
"Of course, Your Grace." the older midwife complied, taking the bundle from the frozen fool and passing it to her. "He was a boy, Your Grace," she said as she deposited him in her arms.
'Was'. Was boded well. Was would mean she was saved.
He was so light that she needed to readjust her grip so that he would not slip through her grasp. It was incredible how something as tiny as he, practically a cloud of feathers could boast such an enormous entrance.
She unwrapped the cloth around his face and the sight took her breath away.
This was not what she wanted.
She had not wanted Robert's spawn, such was the last thing in the world that she wanted, and she would have killed for that.
Cersei had not wanted to want him.
But there he was – perfection.
He was dusky blue and covered in what seemed like wax but he was sublime with his little snub nose and the way his ears bent back. Mindful of the proportions she checked him all over and found ten tiny toes and ten little fingers, his head, arms, and legs were all the perfect size and she rejoiced in knowing he wasn't a monster. Yet he remained motionless in arms, unmoving and silent as the grave.
What cruel jape was this? Were the God's punishing her? Was this Cersei's debt for getting what she wanted?
Absent were Robert's coal dark locks, or her golden blond. It was only the timing of her moon's blood that made her certain that the babe was Robert's, but at a glance, you could not tell. The mop of hair topping his soft head was a pale white, almost silver, like an old man's. As if his first day was already his last.
She had asked for deliverance for being the vessel of Robert's disgusting seed. She should be happy. She had gotten what she wanted, but she had not wanted this.
Even if he was Robert's, he was hers. Her own child, her own son.
And she loved him more than she ever thought she could love at all.
This was the price for her prayers, Cersei realized. She had wanted her babe dead, and the Gods had obliged, but not before they made her love him first.
It would have been easier if he had never been born, had he died a quick death within her womb, she could have moved on and bore Jaime's children without regret. But not now, not as the fragile little angel in her arm was bereft of life. Without so much as a murmur, he had stolen her heart and she could not go on without him.
"Please…" she begs, "Please…little cub, open your eyes." she was a lioness of the rock and though her son might by rights be a Baratheon, he was her cub all the same. She wanted nothing more in that moment to watch him grow into a mighty lion. But that was her curse, a spiteful fulfillment of an unfair bargain.
'Please' she begged him, she prayed to the Gods that she took it back. The room was in a state of sheer chaos, the storm was hailing through the gaping holes in the brickwork as the wind howled with the smoke stalking after it, a congestion of rancid stench reminiscent of rotting flesh that threatened to choke the life out of all of them if not for the gusts of wind that coincided with each clap of thunder. She prayed to the Gods to take her instead.
He was not guilty of her sins.
'Please, Cersei!' rang the cries in her ears, as she remembered the freckled face of Melara before she'd drowned in the well.
'That was not his fault!' screamed Cersei in her mind, 'Please! Please!' she begged. She was meant to have three! How would that be if she lost him? If she had killed her firstborn, there would be no second. She would sooner jump from the highest window in the Red Keep, she would join him in the afterlife this very night if he left her.
'Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds' the witch's words rang through her head. But that could not be right, her boy had worn no crown, only snow and silver rested on his head.
The witch lied!
Cold took her heart, 'No, you can't!' she raged, 'You can't take him because of a lie!'
"Your Grace," came the whisper of the crone, as she approached with outstretched hands, "It is not good for you."
"Get back!" she roared, clutching her babe to her chest, "You can't have him! He's mine!"
They would not take him from her, not because of a lie, not for her sins. She took it back, she didn't want him dead. She wanted him alive and well.
'Take me instead' she bargained, she begged. She would do anything. She would pray to the Mother every morning, noon, and night; and kiss Tyrion's feet. Parade naked through the streets; whip herself from dawn to dusk. Anything.
"Your Grace." this time it was no whisper, and no crone, but a warrior. They'd called him in then.
"No! You will not have him!" They couldn't take him away from her. She wouldn't let them! Not even Barristan Selmy was bold enough to try.
"Please, little cub, won't you open your eyes for your mother?"
Cersei knew not if the Gods had answered her, but he did, and her heart soared. More tears came, but they came from joy.
'His eyes are gems...' she thought to herself as the hens crowded around him, cawing and cackling foolish things in foolish voices to her son. 'And they're mine.'
Rubies.
Such a thing was not unheard of among those with Valyrian blood, it amused her to no end. That her boy had taken after his father's blood, after all - the part he hated. The Targaryen blood flowing in Robert's veins had coloured his son, red had beaten the blue, and white had overtaken the black.
She had thought she would despise a son of Robert who took after him, but her boy had come with a new face for the old blood of Valyria. She would love all of him. It wasn't a choice really, but she would have chosen it now over all else. Cersei belonged to him now as he did her.
Her babe's gorgeous tiny eyes shone like stars as he starred up at her with a remarkable doe-eyed expression until he blinked and let loose a little roar from his little lungs in the form of a tired yawn, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before gifting her with a curious look as if he wondered whether or not she was his mother.
"So little cub, were you just too tired to care that you had scared your mother half to death in your slumber?" she chuckled. In reply, he cooed – a sound she knew well would quickly become her favourite. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he grabbed her hand with his own tinier ones and brought her fingers to his mouth, plopping one into his mouth and slobbering over it with his toothless maw, making her chuckle for the first time in an age. Cersei would never have acted as such when others were near, but it had been a long day, and she felt like now they were the only two people in the world.
The rumble of thunder returned, and like it was the beat of a drum, her babe burst into excited giggling, cooing and cawing like it was a game. A streak of lightning would light the night sky, and expel the darkness in the room, only for her son to gawk with his mouth in a circle, before laughing again like it was some secret jest. 'My brave cub', she thought with a newfound pride she hadn't the slightest idea she could feel.
The hens hooted in amazement at the incredible baby, with no tears to spare for coming into this world of thunder so quietly.
Just as she was about to dismiss the hens so that she could admire her son in peace, the door once again burst open. It was Jaime, drenched from the rain, but still shining in his silver armour and white silk cloak. Fear was etched on his handsome face, but that soon disappeared with a relieved smile from her. Her other half saw to the windows first at the behest of the hens.
Her father's creature Pycelle, waddled in shortly after, wheezing and tutting "I-I-I should have been told of Her Grace's arrival, the moment she entered the city, childbirth is not something that can be left to the uninitiated in the healing arts, the health of the Queen is of paramount importance to the realm, and therefore should only be entrusted to the Grand Maester, as it has been since the time of Wise King Jaehaerys and Grand Maester All-"
"You're here now. Get on with it." Jaime spared her, having now taken a place at her side, he embraced her and she melted into his arms, overjoyed at having him at her side after so much time apart. Reluctantly, she passed her son to Pycelle, knowing it was expected of her, that Pycelle would not harm his master's grandson, and Jaime was there in any event. Still, it hurt to part with him, he would not leave her sight though.
Pycelle looked over her babe with a scrutinizing gaze, assured her that albinism was a not uncommon trait among those with Valyrian ancestry, but was likewise confused by his laughing, "Ah, it is not unheard for newborns to refrain from crying, such has been recorded in the Citadel's archives, dozens of times, but to be laughing so raucously during such a ruckus..." the old Maester seemed to straighten, and hum before slouching over again, and passing her son back. "There are no such precedents warning of ill tidings in living memory, so I suppose there is nothing to fear."
'As if I was worried,' she scoffed to herself and coddled her boy. Utterly content between her two favourite people in all the world, she held up her son to her brother to show him off, "Give him your finger, Jaime." she urged.
He did as she bid, and presented a gloved finger to her son, who swiftly latched onto it and pulled it into his mouth, drooling around it before his little face soured at the taste of leather and spat it out before laughing again at another boom, all to her amusement.
Looking over his nephew, he turned to her and chuckled, "Well, he's got my cheekbones at least." They shared a laugh at the secret behind the jest, and she rejoiced yet again, soothed by the knowledge that Jaime would not hold Robert's blood against her baby boy. In a way, perhaps it was best that she had given birth to Robert's child first. Ever since she had decided to give her husband horns and bear only Jaime's children, she had worried that he would have to distance himself from her children lest they arouse suspicion, but his colouring did not come from her brother after all.
And when her future children by Jaime came into the world, all blonde and green-eyed, all anyone would think is that that her younger children took after her instead.
She leaned into her brother, smiling as her boy giggled at the thunder, then stayed like that for what seemed like hours.
Her boy grabbed at her chest, and she had Jaime expel the others from the room so that she could feed him. Not when father had promised her a silver prince, or that oaf on their wedding night or even Jaime that first time they finally became one, no man had ever made her feel as good as she felt when he took her nipple in his mouth to nurse.
She would never love anything like she loved him. 'I will give you the world, little cub, and it will bow at your feet.' she thought as she pressed her lips to his little toes. It seemed that bearing Robert's child was not a curse, but her salvation. Now she had everything she'd ever wanted. She was queen, she was with Jaime, and they would raise their children to be the envy of the Seven above.
She'd finally gotten what she'd wanted.
Cersei wanted to stay lost in this moment for all time.
Alas it was not to be, as another bellowing replaced the racket of thunder, "Where is he? Where is my son?!" demanded the voice she immediately recognized as her husband. And it seemed word of her babe's sex had already reached his ears. The hens must have gone through the keep, clucking all the way.
Robert burst into the room, flanked by his Hand, both soaking wet, and threw a drenched pelt on the foot of her bed. His presence left a harsh taste in her mouth, but it was not enough to dim her mood.
The oaf stomped up to her and motioned with his hands that he wanted to hold her son. The idea made her feel ill, and she was loathe to part with him again, especially to that brute, but she was not fool enough to think she could withhold anything from the king. And loathe she was to admit it, Robert was her son's father and was not wont to harm the boy. So, tepidly she passed her boy to Robert.
Robert took his son into his hands, and lifted him above his head, making her heart leap into her throat, but her son's hearty laughs calmed her... that is until that beast tossed him into the air. She almost lunged, it was only the infirmity of having just given birth that kept her stationary. Instead, she roared every curse she knew.
Yet the buffoon ignored her, Cersei had to close her eyes so as to be soothed by the pitch of her son's laughter, and try to blot out Robert joining in. She could feel Jaime tighten his grip around her, but he too could do nothing.
"A fine lad!" Robert declared, as her babe clutched onto the oaf's beard with his little hands and giggled madly. "And those eyes, by the Gods! The girls' smallclothes will fall just from a look from you."
Jon Arryn intervened before he could toss him again, "Your Grace, now that your son has been seen to, I shall see to the city."
Robert thankfully seemed to have finished, nodding to his Hand before he passed back her boy to her and she held him close so that none of them might take him from her again. Would that he had left afterward and not lurched over her shoulder to pat her cub on the head like a pet.
It seemed Pycelle had slithered back into the room, as he limped up to the king and began to whisper in his ear "The child's eyes are not an uncommon feature of your grandmother's house, Your Grace" an image of the old man's head on a spike flashed through her mind in retaliation for bringing up the Targaryens to her husband so casually, "Brynden Rivers likewise had albinism, and of course Shiera Seastar and Princess Alyssa both bore eyes of different colours and it never seemed a detriment to their sight. And of course, the prince's own uncle has the same such defect, as Her Graces knows we-" the old Maester finally shut his mouth when he noticed her glaring a hole through his empty head.
Her cub reached out and pulled on his father's beard, making the king and queen laugh for different reasons, her husband turned to face her "Have you thought of a name yet?"
Cersei had been with child for months, and with things being what they were, finding a name had never worried her. It was not uncommon for several days or even weeks to pass before a child was named, for the most part out of fear that the babe would pass. But she would allow no such fear, her cub was here now and here he would stay.
Though she had given little thought to a name beforehand, there was little enough thinking that needed to be done. While she was fond of 'Joffrey', it did not seem to fit her babe, and so she decided to go with the easiest choice.
She fixed his swaddling and looked at his face and smiled when he giggled when another bolt of lightning showed in the sky. "Yes, I have." She proclaimed to her husband. Cersei looked up at him and smiled barring her teeth, "For your sire."
Robert's breath hitched, "Yes, a good name, strong name."
'Hopefully, it'll keep you away from him.' She'd known that Robert had watched his father perish at sea, and while she no doubt knew that her boy would not be so unlucky, she would keep from sailing into Shipbreaker Bay after all, she did wish to endear her firstborn with such a legacy.
Besides, it was a good name. A family name, easy to pronounce, hard to ridicule, not too long, not too short, neither overused nor strange, and most of all her father would be pleased. The late Lord of the Stormlands had been a stout companion in her father's youth, having fought alongside him in the war of the Ninepenny Kings. Lord Tywin had even actually grieved when he passed. Her father of course would compare her son to his friend, but she would raise him so that he would be far more clever and patient than either Robert's father or hers.
"What do you think, little cub?" she asked softly of the bundle in her arms and swooned when he blew bubbles at her in reply.
'Cub' might not be what is shouted in taverns and inns around Westeros, but that would always be what he was to her.
"He still looks so much like Mya." came the off-hand remark of the king, more boar than man.
How dare he compare her son to his low-born bastard? Cersei only knew the girl's name to ensure that she would be kept well away from court.
"You're soaking wet, my love," she growled, "best you change into something dry and warm lest you catch a chill." Gods be good. In this, they were, as Robert took either the hint or her advice. She cared not for which, as long as he was away from her.
Robert seemed to be a fool in every respect as if some bastard whelp sired on a peasant wench could compare to her beautiful cub. Besides, her cub had inherited some of her best features, sadly not her golden hair or emerald eyes, but her cheekbones. No base-born whelp could lay claim to those.
"Your Grace," interrupted one of the hens, "would you like us to fetch the wet nurse?"
Cersei bristled at the thought of someone taking her son away from her and revolted at the idea of another woman close to him. Turning her head to the hen, she answered, "No, I am entirely capable of feeding my own son, tell them that I have no use for a wet nurse." The hens seemed ready to argue, but she was no longer at her worst and silenced them with a look then sent them on their way with a wave of her hand.
Jaime made to leave with them, promising a quick return as he too changed into something more comfortable than his armour and she relished ending this trying day with the two people she loved most in the world at her side.
But as her twin left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her all alone with her cub, she found that was all she needed.
After all, Jaime had left her once. It had been her idea for him to join the Kingsguard so that they might be together, but even after Father had left the capital in protest with her in tow, Jaime had still sworn his vows. In awe of the Sword of the Morning and the White Bull, it seemed to her.
What matter? Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower were dead now, along with the king he'd slain. She was all he had now.
Besides, her time alone at the Rock, her wedding day, and this night all proved to her that she didn't need Jaime to survive.
All she needed was her cub. Father might have sold her to a brute, Genna might have left her to her fate, and Jaime might prefer his white cloak to her smallclothes, but no one could ever take her boy away from her. They had each other now.
"King Steffon, the First of His Name," congratulated a lingering Pycelle, "your lord father will be most pleased, Your Grace." Quickly leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
But did it please her?
'Lyanna' echoed through her mind. Jaime called 'Kingslayer' while none dared call Robert a kinslayer for butchering his cousin, the silver prince on the Trident. Her father's scowl as he fled the capital, as he abandoned his promise to win her Rhaegar's hand and let Jaime go. His smirk when he sold her like a sow to Robert.
Cersei had thought to name her son to please the most powerful men in the realm, but she had birthed him and he would be more powerful than both of them could hope to be.
Jaime was a knight of the Kingsguard now, and father would sooner burn Lannisport to the ground before the Rock went to Tyrion.
Her son was the heir to seven kingdoms and a mountain of gold besides, and she would raise him to be great enough to seize whatever else he wanted. She would raise a king. She would raise her avenger.
She would start today.
"You're mistaken, Grand Maester," Cersei explained, "Steffon was Robert's father, true, but I spoke of his grandsire, from which his claim to the Iron Throne comes."
Yes, she had born him, and so she would name him. Her alone.
The Maester stared at her as if she had grown another head. "Y-your Grace, surely you do not mean?" stammered the old cretin, "To name your own son after a Targaryen? After all that has transpired?"
"What better name for the future king than the name borne by the kings of old?" she asked, "What better way to show the realm why Robert is king than to remind the realm of his Targaryen blood, that with the Mad King dead and his heirs disinherited, he is next in line to the throne of Aegon the Conqueror as Aegon the Unlikely's grandson?" Tyrion was not the only one who had paid attention to his lessons. Feeble as Robert's claim may be to the Iron Throne, it was still the strongest yet surviving in the realm.
Of course, that is what the maesters would claim in the years to come. In truth, the name was to deliver Robert a wound from her birthing bed from as early as his nameday.
Damn her father and damn her husband. Her son was meant for greatness.
The old man looked as if he swallowed his tongue, "Your Grace is most wise, but perhaps the kin-"
Cersei grabbed Pycelle's beard and yanked it down so she could look him in the eye rather than have him peer over her, "I am the queen, Maester, and you are my father's creature. You will do well to remember that and not to question what I choose to name mine own son and your future king."
"Y-yes, yes, I serve at Your Grace's pleasure," he assured in baited breaths. It seemed almost worth it to have his head on a spike to spare her son from the man's lessons.
"Now, you will go see to your ravens, you are to announce the prince's birth to the realm."
"Mayhaps His Grace might be-"
"Unless of course, you'd prefer to sleep in the black cells, but then do be mindful the dungeons are still full of those captured after you opened the gates to my father's men."
Pycelle seemed to wither like a dying plant, even as her cub cheered the next roar of the storm.
"O-of course, Your Grace." he agreed, fleeing the room in terror.
It would likely be days before her husband even noticed what she'd done, and by then, the entire realm would be toasting their new prince. Too late to change what she had writ into history.
Cersei did not care for the name for the sake of Targaryen's prestige, though it would not hurt she supposed. It would sour Robert to her son though, remind him of the hate he held for his own blood. Robert did not deserve her son to be named after his father, no more than her father deserved that he be named for his friend. The less time spent in the presence of that oaf, the better. He was her son after all.
Damn whatever scorn Robert would heap on her, and the more scorn he poured onto his son the better for her purposes. It wasn't as if he was going to disinherit the babe just because of what she had done.
She pressed her head to her cub's and stared into his eyes, "Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." she declared to him as would be declared to all the realm, in time...
The king and the warden of the west would not live forever, and her son was only a babe yet.
The world belonged to them now. She would prove to her father that she was his rightful heir.
Robert had planted the seed of his destruction when he split it inside her that night.
Aegon would be king, and she would still be queen without a husband and without her father.
Well, there you have it. This is probably my favourite piece of writing I've ever done, so I hope you hate it.
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I don't want any shit for naming Aegon as such, Joffrey is the name of a Targaryen prince too. And Cersei is totally the type of person who would do such a thing if she felt spiteful enough. It's also a nice play on Rhaegar's prophecy being screwed up.