Cersei I

Cersei had been waiting in her chambers for hours, pacing in the dim candlelight as the shadows danced across the richly adorned walls. She had instructed the Kingsguard to bring Joffrey to her as soon as he finished his meeting with Roslin Stark, but each passing moment only deepened the gnawing anxiety that had settled in her chest. Cersei had faced countless challenges throughout her life—scheming courtiers, treacherous family members, and enemies on all sides—but nothing unnerved her like the unpredictability of her eldest son.

Joffrey had always been difficult, even as a child—cruel, willful, and relentless in his pursuit of power. She had once been able to rein him in, to control his temper and guide his impulses, but now, seated on the Iron Throne, Joffrey was beyond her grasp. The crown had magnified his worst tendencies, and there was little she could do to manage him now. His whims were no longer the tantrums of a boy—they were the commands of a king.

Her plan to bring Robb Stark to King's Landing had been a calculated move, one aimed at securing the North's loyalty in the battle for the throne. With Renly and Stannis looming as threats, the Stark alliance was crucial. Any hope of swaying Eddard Stark had vanished when he learned the truth about her children, but Robb... Robb was young, impressionable and most importantly desperate. She believed he could be moulded, shaped into something useful—someone who could be swayed to her cause at least until the main threats had been dealt with. But that delicate strategy could unravel with a single stroke of Joffrey's recklessness. If he harmed Robb or, worse, took his father's head, the Starks would never support the Lannisters. Instead, they would turn to Renly or Stannis, and that could spell disaster.

Cersei had allowed Joffrey certain liberties, letting him think he held the reins of power. It was crucial for her to make him feel in control, even if she was the one doing the real work behind the scenes. That was why she had tolerated his public scolding of Robb and why she hadn't interfered when he tormented Sansa. But Roslin Stark posed a different problem. Cersei feared how far Joffrey would go with her. If he hurt Roslin—if he went too far—their fragile alliance with Robb would shatter, and with it, any hope of securing the North.

She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms, willing herself to stay calm. She knew her son's nature better than anyone. He craved power, control, and above all, the pleasure of breaking those beneath him. And yet, Cersei also knew that she had to find a way to keep him in check without directly challenging him, for that would only incite his defiance.

Moments later, Joffrey stormed into the room, his expression thunderous, flanked by his personal guards. He shoved the doors open with a force that sent them slamming against the walls. "I am not a dog to be summoned, Mother!" he spat, his voice sharp with venom. "I am your King! Now, what is so urgent that I had to be disturbed?"

Cersei remained composed and seated herself at the table, her golden hair gleaming in the candlelight. She gestured subtly toward the chair across from her, an unspoken command for him to sit. "I wanted to speak with you about your time with Roslin Stark," she said smoothly, keeping her tone light, as though this were a casual conversation. "She's a beautiful girl. I can understand why she might have caught your eye."

Joffrey glowered but, begrudgingly, took the seat she had indicated. He slouched into the chair, his irritation evident in the sharp lines of his face. "I have no interest in her," he snapped, the disdain dripping from his words. "She's plain and unremarkable. Why would you think I'd waste my time on someone like her?" His lips curled into a sneer as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "When I toy with her, it bothers him," he continued, the gleam of cruelty flickering in his eyes. "That's all there is to it."

Cersei studied her son closely, her face revealing little as she chose her next words with care. She didn't believe him, not entirely, but she knew better than to challenge his pride directly. "Of course," she replied, her voice measured, as though she accepted his explanation. "But I wanted to remind you just how important Robb Stark is to our cause. Without him, our chances against your uncles—"

"I don't need him!" Joffrey barked, cutting her off, his face contorted with anger. He slammed his fist against the table, making the goblet tremble. "I will have Renly and Stannis' heads on spikes with or without Robb Stark! I am the King, Mother. I don't need anyone."

Cersei's jaw tightened, but she remained calm, her eyes never leaving his. The raw arrogance of her son was dangerous—volatile, even—but now wasn't the time to confront him head-on. "Of course, Your Grace," she said softly, a practiced smile curving her lips, "but even kings must choose their allies wisely. Robb Stark may prove more useful than you realize."

Joffrey scoffed, draining his wine with a dismissive wave. The tension between them hung thick in the air, and Cersei knew that controlling her son's impulses was becoming increasingly difficult. But she also knew the importance of subtlety. To guide Joffrey, she had to let him believe he was in charge, all while carefully manoeuvring the real pieces on the board behind the scenes.

"All I suggest is that we appease the Starks," Cersei said, her voice smooth as she leaned across the table, taking her son's hands in hers. She kept her tone soft, and soothing, trying to coax him into seeing reason. "Give them Eddard and both of the girls. They are all insignificant pieces in the grander game. In return, the Stark boy and his army can join your grandfather's cause against our enemies. It's a sacrifice that will secure our position, Joffrey."

"No!" Joffrey roared, yanking his hands away as he shot up from his chair, eyes blazing with fury. "Ned Stark is a traitor, and I will have his head!" His fists clenched as his whole body radiated anger, his temper flaring like wildfire.

Cersei remained seated, unflinching, though her grip on her patience tightened. "I agree, my dear," she replied, her voice calm and even, trying to soothe the storm brewing within him. "Eddard Stark cannot be trusted. But if you take his head, we sever any hope of controlling the Starks. We don't need him dead—we need his power gone. Let me handle it."

Joffrey's gaze narrowed, his face hardening in stubborn defiance. "As long as Ned Stark breathes, he holds power," he snapped, venom lacing his words.

Cersei stood slowly, her movements deliberate, and graceful, as she approached her son. She kept her eyes on him, her expression softening into one of reassurance, a mother soothing her child's fears. "Listen to me," she said quietly but firmly, "I have a plan. A way to protect us from your uncles and, in time, to be rid of the Starks altogether. All I need is your leave to do what must be done."

Joffrey stared at her, his jaw clenched as his eyes flickered with doubt. For a moment, the silence between them stretched, heavy and charged. He was weighing her words, his pride warring with the remnants of reason she had planted in his mind.

Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Do it," he said, his voice sharp, as though he was granting her a trivial request. He turned on his heel, storming toward the door, the conversation seemingly over.

But just as he reached the doorway, Joffrey paused. He looked back at his mother, his expression darker, more calculating. "One more thing," he added, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "I want the girl - Roslin. She isn't to leave." And with that, he strode out, the heavy doors closing behind him, leaving Cersei alone once more in the quiet of her chambers.

Cersei stood still for a long moment, her gaze lingering on the door where Joffrey had disappeared, her mind already spinning with the implications of his final demand. Roslin Stark. Robb Stark's wife. The girl Joffrey wanted to keep as another pawn in his twisted game. This was no longer just a matter of manipulating alliances—now it was personal.

The following morning, Cersei made the short but deliberate journey from the royal apartments to the chambers that housed Robb Stark and his wife. Her expression was cold, her resolve steely—she knew precisely what needed to be done. As she arrived at the door, she waited, composed, while a Stark guard announced her presence.

"The Queen," the man called out, his voice echoing through the room.

Cersei entered, her eyes sweeping across the space. Robb Stark was seated at a heavy desk, surrounded by maps, papers, and books. Sansa Stark sat quietly on a sofa near the window, her face pale and distant, a shadow of the girl she once was. Cersei knew from Myrtle, Sansa's maid, that the young girl had barely left her brother's side, clinging to him for some semblance of comfort in this foreign and hostile court.

Sansa stood quickly upon Cersei's arrival, her movements nervous, as though she had been startled from deep thought. She offered a quick, shaky curtsy. "Your Grace."

Cersei smiled, but it was a practiced, calculated expression. "Hello, Little Dove," she said smoothly. "Will you be a dear and join Myrtle in your rooms? She's been searching for you all morning."

Sansa hesitated, her uncertainty clear as she glanced toward her brother. Robb, still seated, gave her a slight nod of approval, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. Reluctantly, Sansa obeyed, casting one last glance over her shoulder before leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, the room fell into an uneasy silence. Cersei now stood alone with the Young Wolf, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she prepared for the delicate conversation to come.

"How can I be of service, Your Grace?" Robb said, rising from his desk and moving to stand in front of it, leaning back against its edge with an air of quiet strength. His eyes were guarded, his stance tense but composed, as if bracing for the inevitable.

Cersei gave him a measured smile, her voice softening as she began. "I would like to apologise for Joffrey's behaviour yesterday." She knew the importance of false pleasantries when dealing with the Stark honour, and she needed to win Robb over from the start. "He is a young boy, still struggling with the loss of his father, and suddenly burdened with more responsibility than he knows how to handle. He isn't coping well, which I would think you, of all people, might understand."

Robb's jaw tightened, and he shot back, "My father isn't dead."

"No," Cersei conceded, her voice smooth, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "but he is lost to you." She let the words hang in the air, calculating her next move carefully. "It must be difficult, is all I'm saying. After all, you were only a boy two moons ago, and now you're a man—a lord, a husband. So many lives depend on you, and you've had such little time to adjust. The weight of it all... I imagine it is heavy."

Robb's face remained unreadable, his silence thickening the air between them. Yet Cersei could sense the strain behind his composure, the effort it took for him to maintain that Stark stoicism. She studied him carefully, aware that beneath his hardened exterior was a young man grappling with the immense pressures of war, family, and duty. All she had to do was find the right moment to exploit it. Cersei, ever watchful, took a slow step forward, her gaze never leaving his.

"I understand what it means to rule," she said softly, her voice as smooth as silk. "I know the loneliness of it. You have people around you—counsellors, allies, your wife—but at the end of the day, the decisions rest with you. You alone carry the burden of their consequences. Joffrey lashes out because he knows he doesn't know what to do, he's afraid. But you... I can see you've learned to control it. You've grown quickly."

Robb's eyes flickered, just for a moment, betraying a hint of the exhaustion beneath his defiant exterior. He didn't respond, but Cersei knew she had struck a nerve. The Stark boy was far too proud to admit it, but he was still young, still struggling to navigate a world that demanded so much from him so quickly.

She took another step closer, her voice softening as if she were offering him a rare moment of understanding. "I imagine Roslin has been a great comfort to you in this time, where is she now?" The mention of his wife was a subtle move, but Cersei knew it would draw him in further. She watched him carefully for any reaction.

"She has gone into the city for some new dresses with some of our guards, in our haste to marry she didn't have a chance to get any new gowns fitting a Lady." He said, accepting there was no need to give any hostility at this moment.

"Ah, I see," Cersei murmured. "Such a pretty girl, I understand your haste is taking her to wife".

Robb's brow furrowed, and his expression hardened again, though Cersei caught the briefest flash of concern in his eyes. "What do you want, Your Grace?" he asked, his voice firm but cautious, cutting through her attempt at sympathy.

Cersei smiled, as though she had anticipated the question all along. "I want to ensure that we avoid any... unnecessary conflict between our houses," she said smoothly. "I know Joffrey's actions have put a strain on things, but we still have a common enemy in Renly and Stannis. I would hate for any misunderstanding to ruin the opportunity for an alliance that would benefit us both."

Robb crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "And what misunderstanding would that be?"

Cersei let a beat of silence pass before answering. "Joffrey has taken an interest in your wife," she said, her tone light, almost casual, though she watched his reaction closely. "He's a boy who likes to play games, and sometimes those games can... escalate. I wanted to ensure you that I will do everything in my power to keep him in check. But you must understand that as Queen Mother, there are limits to my influence now that he sits on the throne."

Robb's jaw clenched visibly, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "Roslin is under my protection," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "If Joffrey so much as lays a hand on her—"

Cersei raised a hand, cutting him off with a calm, practiced grace. "I'm not here to make threats, Lord Stark. I am here to prevent them. We both know what's at stake. Warring with each other would weaken us all, and none of us can afford to show weakness in the face of the Baratheons."

She took a step back, giving him space, as though she were offering him control. "I only ask that you keep your head, as you have been doing so well. Let me handle Joffrey. I can manage him better if there are no rash actions on either side. After all, your wife's safety depends on it."

Robb's gaze darkened, but his silence lingered, and Cersei could see the conflict in his eyes. He was torn, not wanting to bend to her will, but knowing that to act rashly could endanger more than just his pride. His family, his wife—everything was at risk.

Cersei reached into the folds of her gown, her movements slow and deliberate, and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. With a practiced elegance, she placed it gently on the desk beside Robb, her eyes watching him intently.

"That," she said smoothly, her voice laced with calm authority, "is a royal pardon for your father."

Robb hesitated for a moment before snatching up the parchment, his heart pounding as he unfolded it. His eyes scanned the paper quickly, and to his shock, he saw the royal seal of Joffrey Baratheon at the bottom. The document was real.

"Signed by the King himself for your father's immediate release," Cersei added, her voice almost too sweet as if savouring the moment.

Robb's breath hitched as he continued to read, his pulse quickening. His father—free. It was more than he could have hoped for, more than he dared believe. For the briefest of moments, hope flared in his chest.

"This is not an empty gesture, Lord Stark," Cersei said, her tone softening as she observed the mix of emotions flashing across his face. "By nightfall, your father will walk free."

Robb's hand tightened around the parchment, his gaze snapping up to meet hers, wary, as if waiting for the blow that must surely follow.

"But," Cersei continued, her smile barely touching her eyes, "there are conditions."

Robb stopped reading, his eyes narrowing. The warmth of hope quickly chilled into suspicion as he studied her, knowing that any offer from Cersei Lannister came at a cost.

Cersei's voice remained steady as she laid out the terms with cold precision. "Your father will be free to return to the North once he offers a full apology for his... unfortunate comments," she said smoothly, eyes never leaving Robb's face. "He must publicly denounce Renly and Stannis as claimants to the throne and swear allegiance to Joffrey as his rightful king. Only then will he be allowed to live out the rest of his days at Winterfell."

Robb listened, his jaw tight, though despite his best efforts, a small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The thought of his father, free and alive, back in the North where he belonged, was almost more than he dared hope for.

"But," Cersei continued, her voice cutting through his momentary relief like a blade, "he will no longer be Lord Paramount of the North. He will relinquish all his titles, hold no councils, and raise no banners. He will lead no armies." Her eyes glinted as she added, "And should he ever leave the North without express permission from the King, he will face the King's justice."

Robb's expression hardened, but he understood. His father, once the Warden of the North, would be a shadow of the man he was. A figurehead, no longer a leader. Ned Stark's ability to rally men was too dangerous in the eyes of the crown, and they intended to strip him of that power. His father's pride would be wounded, his mother's heart shattered, but he would live. To Robb, it was a sacrifice worth making.

"And what of his titles?" Robb asked cautiously.

"You," Cersei said, her eyes locking onto his, "will take his place as Lord of Winterfell, and from this day forward, assume all the responsibilities and titles of House Stark."

Robb clenched his fist, absorbing the gravity of the offer. The power to lead House Stark, to protect his people—at the cost of his father's legacy.

"And the girls?" Robb asked, his voice tight. "What of Sansa and Arya?"

"Sansa is the future Queen," Cersei said with an air of finality. "She must remain in King's Landing where she belongs."

Robb's mouth opened to protest, but before he could challenge her, Cersei pressed on. "As for Arya, she's free to return to the North with your father. That girl is not suited for the South, and frankly, I'll be glad to be rid of her."

Robb's lips tightened at the casual dismissal of his younger sister. "I would like Sansa to return home with us," he stated firmly, though he knew he was treading dangerous ground. "She's still very young. She belongs with her family."

Cersei's smile didn't falter, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Lord Stark, you must understand that your family's position is delicate. Rejecting a royal proposal now would be... unwise." Her tone was silky, but the threat was unmistakable. "I agree that Sansa's temperament is softer than I would have liked, and perhaps delaying the wedding until she matures is in order. A closer relationship with the new Lady Stark may do her some good."

Robb bristled at the idea of leaving his sister in the clutches of the Lannisters any longer, but now was not the time for rash decisions. He knew Sansa was not ready to face this alone, but first, he needed to secure his father's release. There was no point in freeing Ned only to provoke a new disaster with Sansa. The time to challenge the Lannisters would come—but not yet.

Cersei, sensing his restraint, smiled faintly. "Of course, all of this depends on your support, Lord Stark," she added, her voice dripping with sweet persuasion. "Without you and your forces, the war against Stannis and Renly will drag on, and many will perish. But with your support... we could end it swiftly. Think of how many lives that could save."

Her words were a trap, Robb knew, but at this moment, he had no choice but to navigate it carefully.

"I will do as my King Joffrey bids me," Robb said, his voice strained as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Good," Cersei said, her tone smooth but unyielding. "You will, of course, need to swear allegiance to Joffrey as the new Lord Paramount of the North. Once that is done, you can rejoin your host at Harrenhal, where Lord Tywin will meet you." She paused, a calculating look in her eyes. "Your wife can remain here in King's Landing to mentor Sansa. She's a lovely girl, not suited for life as a camp follower, wouldn't you agree? It's safer for her here in the capital, and you can be reunited once the war is over."

Robb's anger flared. "Roslin is my wife," he snapped. "I won't leave her here alone. I may be young, but I am not ignorant. I know what this place is."

Cersei's gaze was cold as she replied, "That may be true, but consider what it would be like for her. The only woman in a camp full of soldiers who haven't seen a woman in weeks, perhaps months. Imagine their eyes on her, and then, when battle comes, she would be left waiting in uncertainty, not knowing if you or Stannis or Renly will return. What do you think Stannis would do to the traitor Stark's wife?"

Her words were meant to cut, and they did, underscoring the peril Roslin would face. Robb's jaw tightened, the harsh reality of his choices becoming ever clearer.

Robb's expression hardened as Cersei's words sunk in. He could almost see the grim picture she painted: Roslin alone in a hostile city, surrounded by dangers he couldn't control.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" he growled, his voice low and fierce.

Cersei's eyes narrowed with a glint of satisfaction. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. The sooner you accept the terms, the sooner you can return to your duties and ensure that your father's release becomes a reality."

Robb clenched his fists, fighting to maintain his composure. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing heavily upon him. "And if I refuse?" he asked, his voice taut with defiance. "What then?"

Cersei's smile was thin and unfeeling. "Refuse, and not only will your father's release be jeopardised, but you'll also find yourself without allies. You're in a precarious position, Lord Stark. Any resistance might cost you more than you're willing to lose."

Robb's mind raced, weighing his options. He knew that refusing Cersei's terms could mean the end of any hope for his father's freedom—and perhaps even more catastrophic consequences. Yet the thought of leaving Roslin behind was a bitter pill to swallow.

Cersei continued, her voice taking on a more coaxing tone. "Think of what you can gain, Lord Stark. With your father's freedom and your allegiance to Joffrey, you'll be positioned as a key player in the forthcoming battles. Your support could turn the tide in our favour. Isn't that worth a temporary separation from your wife?"

Robb met her gaze, his expression conflicted. He wanted to argue, to refuse, but he had to ensure his father's safety and secure his position.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, the fight draining from him. "Very well," he said, his voice weary. "I will swear my allegiance to Joffrey and accept the terms."

Cersei's smile widened slightly, a victory etched into her features. "Excellent. I will have the necessary documents prepared for you. And remember, once this war is over, you will have your wife back, and your father will be free to live out his days in the North, as promised."

With that, Cersei turned to leave, her steps measured and confident, she knew that in this one decision, the war had truly begun.