THE REGENT
The torches flickered as the men in red cloaks stood in two lines to either side of the arches of the gatehouse, waiting for the bronze doors to swing open. It was a moonless night, and the darkness seemed to make the large passageway look like a gaping maw of some great red creature of stone, waiting to swallow or pour dragonfire on whoever came along.
Cersei waited at the end of the path between the soldiers, waiting for Lord Tywin, Hand of the King. She was wearing a dress robe with long sleeves, and she kept catching herself wringing her hands inside them. Each time she did so, she wanted to recoil in disgust. Who am I? A snivelling coward like Varys?
Yet she could not stop herself completely. Cersei wanted to look up at the black sky and scream. So much had gone wrong.
Wildlings south on the Wall in alliance with the Starks was only the start of it. They had helped sweep away her father's army with sorcerous armaments. Lord Tywin himself had been wounded, though the ravens brought no real word of how badly except to Pycelle. Meanwhile, Robb Stark had gone to Riverrun and liberated the home of his mother, sweeping aside yet another army loyal to the Crown.
And Jaime got himself captured, the brave fool.
Then came the next set of follies.
First, news from the border with the Reach; Lord Renly had married the Tyrell girl and declared himself King, the armies of the Reach and Stormlands mustering to his banner. There was talk that as many as a hundred thousand knights and men-at-arms could be mustered by the man.
Perhaps only a day later, Lord Stannis declared his own claim from Dragonstone, to the surprise of no one. Cersei would not have paid this much heed, save to amuse herself with the notion that the Baratheons would be killing each other. However, the former Master of Ships had also declared Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen to be bastards of incest; he had revealed the truth.
He was wise to flee the capital, Cersei thought bitterly, For I would make the flesh merchants of Slaver's Bay and the Boltons look like gentle men should he have stayed. A small part of her feared her father would believe the man, but the world was not so cruel as that. Unfortunately for Stannis' claims, Joffrey being a bastard would mean the Iron Throne ought to fall to him by right. Lord Tywin would therefore see his declaration for what it was in truth; a naked grab for the crown.
No, that is not the thing to be worried about, she had reminded herself, It is this war. She felt like the walls of every room she sat in were closing to crush her, and there was no way out.
In every direction, enemies seemed to be growing in strength. Cersei was sure the city would fall unless measures were taken. She had already taken some of her own, but she could not rally the men to do their duty. Yes, they saw her as Queen-Regent, powerful and beautiful, but the wrong sex to lead the defence of a city. Nor in truth did she know how, she admitted that much to herself.
There was one man who could. A fool in his own way, but his name still commanded respect and fear, even if he had been recently defeated. Cersei wanted to hate him for his failure, but there was nowhere else to turn.
"Open the gates for the Hand of the King!" shouted the sergeant of the red cloaks. With a dull metallic creak, the bronze gates swung open slowly.
The gatehouse passageway belched a foul, warm air through into the courtyard, all the smells of the city following the wind. Cersei had to stop breathing for a moment, as the humours of the air came back into balance. When she began again, the smell remained, but thankfully was not directed straight into her face any more.
Before the gates were even fully opened, the armoured and torch-lit procession moved forwards, led by the Lion banner of House Lannister. Riding directly behind was not Lord Tywin, but Ser Lyle Crakehall, the boar on his tabard complemented by a red cloak of his own. Few horsemen came with, instead the plate-sheathed footmen of Casterly Rock and Lannisport came into the grounds.
Ser Lyle quicked barked orders for the men to arrange themselves off to the side, and the rush of men finally parted. Cersei saw Lord Tywin now. He was being carried on an open litter atop the shoulders of tall men, sitting in a half-upright position, most of his body under blankets despite the heat. Shuffling behind him were a trio of maesters, and behind those, as many men as had already passed within the walls of the Red Keep.
At least he has brought reinforcement, Cersei thought with slight relief. But she soon clenched her intertwined fingers hard when she noticed her father was missing a hand. As he got closer, she realised he had gotten thinner, and his breathing harder than before. For a moment, she feared he was on the edge of death.
But then he met her gaze. It had not changed. There may be hope yet.
"Your Grace," Lord Tywin called as he approached. He inclined his head forward in as sufficient a bow as a man crippled could possibly have given.
Queen-Regent is my title. "Lord Hand," Cersei replied, biting down any retort, "The Grand Maester awaits in the Tower of the Hand."
Tywin's eyes seemed to stare at her for a moment. "And Lord Stark? He yet lives?"
"He does," Cersei replied, "He has moved to better quarters, and his wound has been seen to, though it continues to bother him."
"A state of affairs we share," Lord Tywin remarked, "Though I doubt it will avail us any sympathy either way. At noon tomorrow, I would meet with him over a meal. We have much to discuss. You will join us."
Cersei's lips curled back. Why should I eat with that traitor… But instead of the objection she wished to make, the fear made her say something else. "I shall."
The midday meal was taken in the Tower of the Hand.
Lord Tywin had not left since arriving there the night before, though a great many men had been summoned to it in the hours since dawn. Cersei knew that Varys, Littlefinger and Slynt had all made their way up the spiral steps in turn.
Pycelle had not left the building at all, seeing to her father's wounds and leaving the dispatch of ravens to a lesser man temporarily. There is no way the doddering fool would allow that, he must have been ordered to. It was not a good omen for Lord Tywin's health.
Cersei herself arrived a little early, again by command. She left the Kingsguard below, ascended the stairs, passed the red cloaks guarding the way and into to the private audience chamber. Not much had changed since the last time she had been inside it; the Myrish carpets and wall hangings remained, the round window still allowed the light of the day inside. But there were no more Stark direwolf banners hanging either.
Lord Tywin was sat in his chair, greatly padded with additional pillows, his lower half covered with a blanket. His face seemed more normal, the rest of the night having done some good. A fine glass cup stood on the desk before him, filled with a Dornish red. He was waiting for her.
A fire was being stoked by a servant, which Cersei thought mad until herbs were thrown atop the flames, filling the room with a pleasant scent. Absurd to think her father would want such a thing, but it was likely one of Pycelle's prescriptions.
"Daughter," Lord Tywin called.
"Father," Cersei said, moving to one of the two empty chairs in front of the desk, "When will the exchange for Jaime happen? Assuring his freedom must be our first act."
"When I have made the proper arrangements," Lord Tywin said, "I do not disagree with you… but I will speak no further on the matter."
"And do you have a plan to turn the war in our favour? Beyond what I have already offered to Lord Stark?"
"I do." He gave no further details.
Cersei wanted to strangle him. Her brother and lover was in the hands of vengeful Riverlords now, and their savage allies. But she could not bring herself to it. "Are we to eat here?" she said instead, "Not in the residence?"
Lord Tywin seemed to clench his jaw. Cersei blinked. That was an unusual display of displeasure from him for such a small question. "The maesters advise me to move as little as possible," he ground out, "And I have every intention of making a full recovery."
Gods, I do not know if he will defeat our enemies or die in his sleep. "I see," Cersei said.
"You do not," Tywin replied, "And you should pray to never find out, if such a thing would do any good."
"Why have you summoned me early?" Cersei asked, her impatience growing.
Lord Tywin's emerald eyes regarded her coolly, as he reached over and took up a piece of paper from the corner of the desk. "I would know what preparations you have made to defend this city. We have enemies other than the Starks and Tullys."
What sort of fool do you take me for? "I have ordered the recruitment of more Gold Cloaks, that our walls be inspected and prepared for siege, and what food that can be brought moved into the Red Keep."
"Yes, I have heard this," Lord Tywin replied quickly, "The other members of the Small Council brought it to my attention. There are two other measures I wish to discuss… You have been to visit the pyromancers? The eunuch was most distressed."
I'm sure Varys was distressed. He saw the Mad King burn men. Cersei bit her lip, wondering if her father would approve. "I ordered them to begin the manufacture of wildfire," she said, "For use against any host that may attempt to take the city by storm or land beneath the walls." It was the only thing she could think of that might be of real use. Everything else had been the idea of Littlefinger or Slynt.
Tywin hummed a deep note. "Excellent," he said, "Dangerous and foolish… but we do not have the luxury of refusing risks. I doubt the Young Wolf will see such a thing coming. Renly is even less likely to." He almost smiled, and she understood why; the idea of burning the Starks and wildlings after what was done to him clearly appealed.
Cersei nodded, as the fear inside released its grip just slightly. "To deal with the Canadians, we have sent for assassins," she continued, her confidence growing, "Lord Varys has discovered a troupe of the Sorrowful Men are operating in Lys, and assures me they are second only to the Faceless Men in their trade. We have already dispatched a messenger to hire them, and others to hire sellswords."
Lord Tywin seemed to regain some colour in his face. "That was the other matter I wanted to speak about. It pleases me greatly to see you have taken it in hand," he said, "The sooner the foreigners are removed from the board, the sooner the northern cause will collapse, wildling against Stark. Lord Varys says they are the keystone of the peace in the Gift."
"You have decided our plan has merit, then?" Cersei asked, "To use Sansa Stark as assurance for her father turning his armies north against the wildlings? Lord Stark has already agreed."
Lord Tywin read the small document in his hand for a moment ."I have. Not least because I have leverage to make it work, where you lacked it after my defeat."
"Is that why you wish to speak to Lord Stark?"
"Yes. He agreed," Lord Tywin said, "But I do not trust him to keep to his agreement now, even with his daughter in our hands."
Cersei scoffed, not believing her father's ignorance. "Honourable Lord Stark, betray his word and his daughter? I think not."
More servants began moving around them, setting the table with plates of roast pork, bread and cheese, jugs of wine and a large pot of stew. A bowl of the steaming stuff was quickly placed in front of Lord Tywin. Cersei felt herself sweat. Between the food and the hearth, there were far too many sources of heat around.
"Lord Stark attempted to remove you from power," her father said, taking up a spoon to eat, "He was never an ambitious man, uninvolved in court life here. So why did he try?"
Cersei's heart lurched. She rushed to find another conclusion. "He was acting on behalf of someone else. He did not join Renly, so it must be Stannis."
Tywin nodded. And began his lecture. "Indeed. Eddard Stark has never regarded our house with the respect it deserves. He sees Jaime as a dishonourable man for killing the Mad King, though never did a king more deserve a blade to the back than Aerys. He hates me as a monster for the death of Princess Elia and her children. Stannis shares this hate, because he wishes the throne to be his. And now, I have been defeated, for the moment."
Cersei considered this. It is a better logic than the truth.
A red cloak entered after a moment, scattering the servants, and leaned in to whisper something into Lord Tywin's ear. The man was quickly dismissed, and her father cleared his throat. "You may enter, Lord Stark."
The man hobbled inside, his broken leg supported by struts and his weight supported by a cane. Without a word, he moved to the last spare chair, and sat down heavily, causing the thing to creak. His cane was quickly taken by a servant and placed by the hearth.
He eyed Lord Tywin and then the food warily, but paid Cersei no mind at all. That's right, I'm not here. Not while Father is.
"You may eat," Lord Tywin said, before following his own words and putting a spoonful of stew into his mouth, "Appreciate food while you can, Lord Stark. My wounds have seen me reduced to stews and soups, for now."
Lord Stark considered this, and then reached forward for the pork and bread, serving himself a generous helping. He ate slowly and deliberately, as if bracing to be poisoned. An irrational fear, given how valuable a prisoner he now was. Lord Tywin said nothing, seemingly just enjoying his meal too.
"You have accepted our offer," Cersei said, "We would have you know your full responsibilities."
Lord Stark chewed for a moment, and then finally looked at her. "I am aware," he said, with much insolence, "I am to declare my role in treasons against the Crown. I shall be exchanged for Tyrion and the Kingslayer. I shall then lead my banners home, to repel the wildlings."
Lord Tywin put down his spoon with a clank sound inside his bowl. "Lord Stark, I do not believe for a moment you would do as we have commanded."
Stark's grey eyes narrowed. "You have my daughter," came the reply.
And soon, Baelish will have her, Cersei thought with a sneer, If you defy us.
Lord Tywin's cool green gaze was met with Stark's own grey one. "What do you know of recent events?"
Stark ate a little more, before putting down his plate. "I know you have suffered grievous defeats. I know you have not received aid or support from much of the realm. I know you need peace as badly as I want it."
"Ah, peace," Lord Tywin purred, "Peace must be delivered at the end of a sword, Lord Stark. What I want from you is a truce. We can discuss peace after I have dealt with our other enemies."
"I am certain you were happy to teach that lesson to the Reynes of Castamere," Lord Stark replied, "But it is not one I require taught to me. And I am sure you cannot teach it to my son, or you would not have moved me from the black cells."
Cersei stared as her father's face went red with an anger he couldn't restrain. Whatever discipline he had in the past was gone. It was a shocking thing to see of a man she had known kept as many of his feelings buried beneath a stern visage as much as he possibly could.
"It was not your son who resisted the lesson," Lord Tywin ground out, "Tell me, what do you know of the Canadians?"
Lord Stark's head turned slightly in confusion, to Cersei's surprise. "Canadians?" he asked, "What are Canadians?"
Why does he feign ignorance? "Foreigners," Cersei said, "But those that apparently sail the seas of the far north enough to find themselves shipwrecked beyond the Wall. Or so Lord Varys has informed us." She did not state on the other, more fantastical rumour that the Canadians came from beyond the realms of men entirely. It was impossible.
"I do not know of these Canadians," Lord Stark said.
Lord Tywin turned his gaze to Cersei. "You did not tell him of their role?"
Cersei scowled back. "I did not inform him of every detail, no." And why should I? He is our prisoner.
Her father returned his attention to Stark. "These foreigners are who brought the wildlings south of the Wall, and who brokered the peace between the wildlings and your son."
Lord Stark's solemn face seemed to shift, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. "And who defeated you in battle?" he asked, "I did wonder how that was achieved."
Cersei felt a flash of anger up her throat. "Do not be so pleased," she said.
"My daughter speaks correctly," Lord Tywin added, "We have suffered a defeat, but your wife's family have had their strength depleted and we inflicted losses on your own banners. What happened has merely brought things back to balance, not given you an advantage."
Lord Stark picked up his own glass cup and one of the jugs of wine, pouring himself some Arbor Gold. "I hear Lord Renly has ambitions on the throne," he said, "And Lord Stannis has pressed his own right."
Where did he hear that? Cersei fumed silently. She promised herself to find out who had been visiting the man in his room.
"So you understand our need," Tywin said with surprising calm, "Allow me to explain yours. Aside from our having your daughter, Renly is as much a threat to you as he is to us. I doubt you would declare your allegiance to a man who you believe has usurped his own brother's claim."
"With the assistance of the grasping Tyrells no less," Cersei commented. Truly, Renly had lost his reason entirely in riding to Highgarden. He had all the legitimacy of a bandit by the roadside in calling himself a king.
"Lord Renly Baratheon does not frighten me," Lord Stark remarked, placing the wine jug back on the table, "The Tyrells would find the Neck as welcoming as ever to invaders. As would you."
"Lord Stannis enjoys no support from any of the other great houses," Tywin continued, "Your joining him would avail you nothing but Renly's ire, and ours."
Lord Stark stared into the air, and brought his wine to his lips. He grimaced, misliking the taste. Cersei watched with disdain. His attitude is not one of a beaten man or a father whose daughters are in the hands of his enemies. "I know not why you are attempting to convince me to follow my own word," he said, "You have my daughter."
"Circumstances have changed," Tywin said, "As I said, I do not believe you will now do as I have commanded. There is another reason you must. The Canadian sorcerers left me a gift before I met them in battle. My outriders discovered it tied to a tree by the Ruby Ford, and I rode out to see it for myself."
Cersei felt her brow rise. She had not heard this story before. "What gift?"
"Living dead men," Tywin said sternly, "Their flesh rotting off their bones, yet they still moved, gazed and made noise from their throats."
The room grew so quiet that the crackling of the fire sounded as loud as war drums. What madness is this?
"Something I would have regarded as strange tales had I not seen them with my own eyes." Tywin continued, as he looked to Lord Stark. "We have received word of these creatures from Lord Varys' spies. There are a great many, beyond the Wall. Tens of thousands and more. It is said the North still believes in such things, Lord Stark, is that correct?"
Lord Stark put down his cup, his eyes shifting side to side in thought. "Before Robert came to Winterfell, I caught a deserter from the Night's Watch," he said, "He was half-mad with fear, making wild claims about death coming for us all from beyond the Wall. Mayhaps he saw such dead men."
"Mayhaps," Lord Tywin allowed.
Cersei was struck dumb. Jaime was in the hands of this man's son, most likely being ill-treated, the Crown's armies were weak, the capital was threatened, the cause of House Lannister is gravest danger… and her father was discussing grumkins and snarks.
"The existence of these creatures suggests a larger problem," Lord Tywin sighed, "The maesters are already saying the winter to come will be long. You already have wildlings south of the Wall. You may soon have walking dead men, and worse if the old legends have any merit. The North may soon need support from the rest of the realm to survive such an onslaught."
Lord Stark took up his wine again, and drank deeply, finishing it. "Lord Tywin, I fear I am repeating myself. I have agreed to your terms. I have put aside my pride and honour for the life of my daughter and the protection of my kingdom. Your continued questions about this are insults, my lord."
Lord Tywin let out a sharp breath, which could have been amusement or anger. Cersei herself began to doubt the northman's word. How could she not? His son was poised to attack the city.
"I am releasing you to your own host, a considerable risk," Tywin said, "In such circumstances, many men would disregard the safety of their daughter, hanging their hope on the ability of your own arms to retaliate should she be harmed."
"I am not many men," Stark replied.
"Yet I do not believe you," Lord Tywin sighed, "Your attitude is not of a man who knows his cause is hopeless. Lord Stannis' claim is doomed. Though he commands the loyalty of the Royal Fleet, he has fewer than ten thousand men-at-arms of any worth."
Lord Stark inclined his head forwards. "I did not attempt to take control of this keep to serve Lord Stannis. King Stannis, in truth. I discovered Joffrey and his siblings are bastards, as Jon Arryn and Stannis did before me. That is why my predecessor is dead, and why Stannis left the city before my arrival."
Cersei felt like a wight had just caressed her down her back, bony cold fingers scratching her skin. He isn't…
"We have heard this claim," Tywin said with a dismissive wave, "A veil for Stannis' royal ambition."
"Why would I support Stannis?" Lord Stark replied, "I had no interest in your southron follies before Robert brought me south. I was already Hand of the King, my daughter to be wed to the heir. What could Stannis offer me that I had already not achieved?"
"Be quiet, you vile man!" Cersei burst, "To repeat such disgusting lies!"
Tywin looked askance at her, but Lord Stark kept addressing her father. "Every one of Robert's bastards were black-of-hair, regardless of the mother's colouring. Every one of his supposed trueborn children is fair."
"Be quiet!" Cersei repeated.
"I confronted your daughter about this," Lord Stark stated heedlessly, "I thought to save the children from the wrath of Robert. She admitted her adultery and hatred for our king openly. A great mistake on my part, for as soon as I told her that I knew, any chance of peace between our houses died."
"Why do you repeat this lie?" Lord Tywin half-snarled. He doesn't believe, Cersei breathed, He can't.
"Lord Tywin, did I have a reputation for lying?" Lord Stark said, "Was my name so sullied that I was not to be considered a man of my word? Your daughter saw fit to release me before. I suggest that even she thought me honourable enough to do as you ask before."
"You are desperate," Lord Tywin retorted, "You wish to drive a wedge between my daughter and I, my king and I."
"You have my daughter. Must I say it seven times like a southron prayer?"
Cersei's heart near stopped as no more words spilled forth. Her father's eyebrow twitched once, before his eyes turned to her. Searching. "It is a lie, father."
Lord Tywin's eyes turned upwards, and he began to shake his head back and forth rapidly. He slumped in his seat, his shoulders joining his head in its movement. His skin turned a white pallor, his fingers curling and uncurling. A sick dance. Lord Stark looked on in shock of his own.
Cersei burst out of her chair and over to her father, grasping his writhing hand in her own. Gods, I've killed him. "Maester!" she screamed, "Maester!"