Cersei II
"Leave me," Cersei commanded sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. The handmaids, who had been fussing over her for what felt like hours, exchanged quick glances before scurrying out of the chamber, leaving behind a trail of pins and fabric scraps.
Cersei let out a frustrated breath, standing before the large mirror as she examined herself in the half-finished gown. This was the third fitting of her dress for Joffrey's wedding, a ceremony meant to cement her son's power and her house as the most powerful in the realm. Yet with every alteration, every adjustment, it felt like the dress was strangling her, as though the very fabric was conspiring to make her feel trapped. She swiped a hand over the silk, smoothing the folds that felt too tight, too suffocating.
"How many changes can one dress have?" she muttered under her breath, turning slightly to inspect the golden embroidery. "Surely, they'll need to start again at this rate."
The irony wasn't lost on her. It wasn't just the dress that was being altered over and over again—her entire world was shifting beneath her feet. Margaery Tyrell, that simpering girl, was already worming her way into her son's affections, and Cersei hated it. Joffrey was hers—her boy, her king.
But there was no denying it. The moment Margaery walked down the aisle, her grip on Joffrey would tighten, and Cersei would be pushed further into the shadows. No longer the Queen. Merely the Queen Mother, the Dowager.
Her jaw clenched as she thought of the young, clever Margaery, with her doe-eyed looks and sweet words that charmed even the coldest courtiers. She could feel the girl's ambition, lurking beneath every delicate curtsy, every carefully chosen word.
The door creaked softly, breaking through the swirl of Cersei's turbulent thoughts. She didn't bother turning, her gaze fixed on her reflection, her expression hard. "I said leave me," she repeated, her voice cold and commanding, laced with impatience.
There was a brief hesitation, then a voice—timid, uncertain—answered, "I... I apologise, Your Grace."
Cersei's eyes narrowed at the meekness in the tone. It wasn't one of her usual handmaids. Annoyance flickered across her features as she slowly turned to see a young girl standing just inside the door, her hands nervously clutching the hem of her dress.
"But… your father has requested your presence," the girl stammered, her words spilling out in a hurried rush, her eyes wide with fear, as if she expected Cersei to lash out at any moment for daring to interrupt her solitude.
Cersei's fingers twitched against the smooth fabric of her gown, her patience fraying. She had no desire to see anyone, least of all her father. But she knew that when Tywin Lannister called, it wasn't something she could ignore. She drew in a sharp breath, forcing herself to remain composed.
"Very well," Cersei said, her voice clipped, leaving no room for further questions. She turned away from the mirror, her gaze piercing as she focused on the trembling girl in front of her. "Help me change."
The girl's eyes widened further, and for a brief second, it looked as if she might bolt from the room. But she stepped forward, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the clasps of Cersei's gown. Cersei stood still, cold and statuesque, as the servant worked, her mind already elsewhere—on her father, on what he might want from her this time.
It was always something. Tywin rarely summoned her unless it served some larger purpose, and Cersei knew that whatever this meeting was about, it wouldn't be anything small or insignificant. Her father dealt in power, in strategy, and Cersei had no intention of being blindsided.
The girl's fingers faltered for a moment, causing the clasp of the gown to snag. Cersei's eyes flashed, a sharp warning glance that froze the young servant in place. "Careful," she said, her voice a dangerous whisper.
"Apologies, Your Grace," the girl mumbled, her hands trembling even more as she continued her task, her movements quicker and more frantic now.
When the girl finally finished, Cersei stepped away, dismissing her with a wave. "Leave," she commanded, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. The servant didn't need to be told twice. She scurried out of the room, leaving Cersei alone once more.
With a steadying breath, Cersei glanced at her reflection one final time before heading toward the door. Whatever Tywin wanted from her, she would face it head-on. She always did. There were no weaknesses in her. Not anymore.
Cersei swept into the room, her gaze immediately falling on the familiar sight of her brothers already seated on either side of the long oak table. As always, her father, Tywin Lannister, sat at the head, his commanding presence filling the room before he even spoke. The air was thick with tension, it was the kind of tension Cersei had known all her life—the unspoken power Tywin wielded over them all.
Jaime was back in his Kingsguard uniform, the pristine white cloak draped over his shoulders, a sharp contrast to the dark armor beneath. His golden hair, still slightly disheveled, framed his face, giving him an air of nobility despite the restless energy she could sense beneath his calm exterior. His sword, unsheathed, leaned casually against the table, the glint of steel catching the light from the windows.
On the opposite side sat Tyrion, dressed in his usual red doublet embroidered with the proud golden lion of House Lannister. His sharp eyes tracked her movements as she entered, but he said nothing. The scar on his face from the Battle of Blackwater Bay had begun to heal, but the jagged line still marred his features. The wound, though mending, gave him a more hardened appearance, but it was his eyes—always calculating, always ready with a cutting remark—that spoke volumes. He seemed more guarded than usual, his lips pressed into a thin line, as though he too was waiting for the storm that Tywin would unleash.
As Cersei approached, her gaze moved to her father, the man who had shaped all their lives with his iron will. Tywin Lannister sat as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the papers before him, but Cersei knew better than to assume his attention was truly elsewhere. No, her father was always aware of every movement, every word, every subtle shift in power.
Cersei sat down beside Jaime without waiting for an invitation, her posture rigid and her chin held high, determined not to reveal even the slightest hint of weakness in their presence.
The silence stretched on for a beat too long, until Tywin finally set down the parchment he had been studying and raised his head. His cold, calculating gaze swept over his children, lingering for just a second longer on Cersei, as if he were weighing her more carefully than usual. She felt a familiar tightening in her chest. No matter how much she had accomplished or what lengths she had gone to for the family, it was never enough in her father's eyes. She was never enough.
"Cersei," Tywin began, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "How kind of you to finally join us." It wasn't a question, nor an accusation—just a statement, heavy with the weight of his authority.
"I came the moment I was summoned," she responded, her tone icy and controlled, determined not to let him see how the subtle reprimand stung.
Tywin said nothing, merely inclined his head, a small acknowledgment that seemed to dismiss the matter entirely. He folded his hands in front of him, his expression hardening as he prepared to address the real reason they were gathered.
"I have called you here today because there are matters of importance to discuss—matters that will shape the future of this family, and of the realm."
Cersei's stomach churned. Her father's "matters of importance" rarely led to anything pleasant. She glanced at Jaime, who shifted slightly in his chair, his hand resting near his sword, as if anticipating a battle of a different sort. Tyrion, however, remained still, his eyes narrowing with interest.
Tywin's eyes swept over each of his children, lingering on them in turn. "Joffrey's wedding is fast approaching, and with it, new alliances must be secured. The Tyrells serve their purpose for now, but their loyalty is far from guaranteed. We cannot depend on them alone." His voice remained firm, calculating. "There are other threats to consider—Stannis still lingers, the Ironborn grow more brazen in the North, and Myrcella's betrothal to House Martell may not be enough to placate the Dornish."
"Are we to be involved in yet another war, then?" Tyrion asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because the last one went so splendidly for all of us."
Cersei shot Tyrion a sharp glare, but Tywin, unfazed, pressed on as if his youngest son hadn't spoken at all. "What I require from each of you," Tywin continued, his voice cold and commanding, "is absolute obedience. There can be no dissent, no reckless games. The crown sits on a precarious edge, and only through our unified strength can we ensure that it remains secure."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the air. "It is well past time for House Lannister to look to the future. The three of you have run unchecked for far too long, indulging your whims and desires. House Lannister needs an heir, a true legacy, to carry on our name and protect our interests. I will not live forever, and I refuse to leave our house vulnerable."
Tyrion's eyes flashed with indignation, his voice rising in protest. "You have an heir already!" he exclaimed, his tone a mix of desperation and sarcasm. "If you would just name me as your successor, I could restore our family's honour and prestige!"
Tywin's lips curled into a sardonic smile, a hint of amusement dancing in his cold gray eyes. "Name you my heir?" he said incredulously, shaking his head as though the thought were too absurd to fathom. "Besides the obvious issues of your... stature, you can't be trusted. You would turn our house into a laughingstock and Casterly Rock into a brothel."
Tyrion's temper flared at the insult, his cheeks flushing with a blend of anger and embarrassment. "I have achieved far more than you acknowledge, Father. During my time as Hand—"
"A brief stint as Hand," Tywin interrupted, his voice cutting through Tyrion's words like a dagger. "All you managed to accomplish was to prevent the realm from completely unraveling. That hardly compensates for a lifetime of mockery and disgrace at your hands."
Cersei let out a soft chuckle, her lips curling into a sly smile as she watched her father rebuke Tyrion with such authority. The satisfaction of seeing her brother humiliated filled her with a sense of delight. Tyrion had always believed he was entitled to the lordship, and witnessing Tywin dismantle that illusion was a sweet moment for her.
"Father," Cersei interjected smoothly, her voice rich with confidence and conviction. "This matter is quite simple. I've been blessed with two sons. Joffrey stands on the brink of his marriage, and soon he will have an heir of his own. Once that happens, you could easily name Tommen as your heir. Allow him to carry the Lannister name." She leaned slightly forward, her eyes glinting with determination, as if to emphasize her point.
"And give credence to the vile rumors surrounding the two of you?" Tywin countered sharply, his expression unyielding as he gestured toward Jaime and Cersei. "If I bestow the Lannister name upon that boy, it would be the spark that ignites a rebellion."
The atmosphere grew heavy as Tywin's words settled among them, and Cersei felt a surge of frustration. The truth hung in the air like a thick fog; she knew their family was already steeped in scandal, but she also believed that their blood, the Lannister blood, would ultimately carry them through. She straightened her back, refusing to back down.
"Then what do you propose, Father?" Cersei shot back, her voice firm but smooth, like polished steel, cutting through the tension in the room. Her eyes locked onto Tywin's, determined to reveal any sign of hesitation in his resolve.
Tywin's expression remained unyielding as he leaned forward, fingers steepled before him like a lion preparing to pounce. "The King will announce that Jaime is retiring from the Kingsguard," he declared, each word heavy with authority. "He will take his rightful place as my heir, as he should have done years ago. Furthermore, he will marry a suitable woman, someone who can help reinforce our standing in the realm."
Cersei's heart raced, a mix of exhilaration and dread coursing through her veins. This was the kind of bold maneuver she had envisioned. Yet, the moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.
"I will do no such thing," Jaime interjected sharply, the fire of defiance igniting in his eyes. He shifted slightly in his chair, a deliberate motion that seemed to echo his displeasure. "They already call me the Kingslayer. Do you want to add 'oathbreaker' to that? Is that the legacy you wish for House Lannister?" His voice dripped with scorn as he spat out the words, each syllable tinged with bitterness.
"Enough!" Tywin thundered, silencing both of them with a single word. The force of his presence sent a ripple of authority through the chamber, a storm of tension that could be felt in the air. He surveyed his children with a steely gaze, his expression a blend of disappointment and impatience. "This is not about you or your pride, Jaime. This is about the future of our house."
Cersei felt a wave of sickness wash over her, each word from her father like a dagger to her heart. Jaime was hers—her confidant, her protector—and the prospect of losing him filled her with dread. The very idea of being separated from him was unbearable, and she could feel her pulse quickening with anxiety.
Jaime stood abruptly from the table, anger radiating from him like heat from a forge. "I will not do this, Father!" His voice was filled with indignation, a raw edge that betrayed his mounting frustration. "I swore an oath to protect the king and the royal family until my dying day. You cannot toss that aside because it's no longer convenient for you." He glanced at Cersei, desperation in his eyes, searching for understanding and support.
"Father, please," Tyrion said, his voice rising slightly above the tension in the room as he tried to interject before the argument escalated further. He cast a quick glance at Jaime, who still looked furious, and then returned his gaze to Tywin, striving for an air of calm amidst the chaos. "Name me your heir. I will learn your ways, adapt to your demands. I will marry whichever woman you choose, without question."
Tywin regarded him with an expression that was hard to decipher—was it disdain, skepticism, or merely a calculation of the moment? "You think I would simply grant you such a title because you ask nicely?" Tywin's voice was cool, betraying no hint of his true feelings. "Do you think your charm and empty promises can replace the years of foolishness and mistakes you've made?"
"Perhaps not, but I am willing to change," Tyrion pressed on, a note of desperation creeping into his tone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his hands steepled beneath his chin. "I have fought tooth and nail to keep the realm from tearing itself apart. I am no stranger to hard decisions or compromise, Father. If you give me the chance to prove myself as heir, I promise to be the man you need me to be."
A flicker of interest sparked in Tywin's eyes, though he masked it quickly, his expression as impassive as ever. "And what assurance do I have that you won't turn this house into a laughingstock?" he countered, his gaze unyielding. "What proof can you offer that you won't squander our legacy as you have so often squandered your opportunities?"
Tyrion felt the weight of his father's scrutiny pressing down on him like a heavy mantle, one he had worn too long and too often. The room seemed to constrict around him, every breath a reminder of his father's relentless expectations. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before replying. "When the time comes, if I haven't produced an heir with a suitable wife, I will step aside. Jaime can take my place as heir."
His words hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples of his statement drawing the attention of both Jaime and Cersei, each processing the gravity of what he proposed. "Jaime will lay aside his Kingsguard cloak and assume the mantle of Lord of Casterly Rock. He will marry a woman of suitable standing, and I will simply... disappear."
The suggestion hung between them, laden with unspoken consequences. Jaime's expression shifted from anger to disbelief, his brow furrowing as he processed what his brother had just offered. "You would just walk away?" he asked, his voice low, a mix of concern and incredulity. "You would abandon our house to live in obscurity? You think that would bring us honour?"
"Honour?" Tyrion scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Honour means very little when you're perpetually reminded of your failures. And if we're being honest here, there's one failure I can never rectify. I can't change who I am or what I am, but I do care deeply for our family. If I cannot become the man our family needs me to be, then I will step aside without hesitation."
"Jaime?" Cersei asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
Jaime glanced at Tyrion, searching for reassurance in his brother's eyes. Tyrion met his gaze and gave a subtle nod, urging him to speak. "I agree," Jaime said, his voice steady but uncertain. "If Tyrion fails to produce a suitable heir, I will hang up my cloak and take my place as the heir to Casterly Rock."
Tywin sat back in his chair, silence enveloping the room as he weighed the proposal. The air was thick with tension, every eye fixed on him, waiting for his response. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Fine, but let me be clear: I am not a young man, and my patience is running thin. Tyrion will marry and must produce an heir within the next year. If he does not, or if I still harbor doubts about his ability to lead our House with the dignity it deserves, he will step aside."
"But—" Jaime and Tyrion both started to protest, the weight of their father's ultimatum heavy on their shoulders.
"No!" Tywin cut them off, his voice sharp and final, echoing in the chamber. "This is non-negotiable. This is my final offer." He fixed each of them with a steely glare, making it abundantly clear that any further objections would be futile. The room fell into a tense silence, the air charged with unspoken fears and uncertainties about the future of House Lannister.
Cersei leaned forward, her interest piqued despite the gravity of the situation. "Father, do you truly believe you can find a suitable match for him so quickly? He'll be lucky to find someone willing to marry him at all." Her voice was laced with a mix of disdain and concern, and she relished the discomfort in Tyrion's expression.
Tyrion shot her a sharp look. "It's a pity you're not more supportive of your brother, Cersei. I'd have thought family would count for something." His words dripped with sarcasm, but he felt the sting of her words.
Tywin silenced them with a curt wave of his hand, the room falling into an uneasy stillness. His cold eyes swept over each of them before resting on Tyrion. "Enough bickering. This isn't a game. We are discussing the future of our house."
The weight of his words hung in the air as Tywin continued, his voice low but commanding. "Sansa Stark remains the most eligible lady in the realm, and yet I hear the Tyrells are scheming to steal her from us. They plan to marry her to their crippled heir—Willas."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, the notion already unsettling. "Robb Stark would never hand his sister over to us willingly, and besides, the Tyrells are our best chance to finally end this war. Refusing them this marriage could cost us more than we're prepared to lose in this war."
Tywin's lips thinned into a grim smile. "There is nothing to refuse yet. The Tyrells are playing a clever game, one they won't unveil until after Joffrey's wedding. But we will not sit idly by and wait for them to move. We will strike first—kill this union before it takes root."
"You can't be serious," Tyrion said, shaking his head, incredulous. "Marrying me to the Stark girl after everything she's suffered at Joffrey's hands? The poor girl's been through hell. That would be cruel—even for you."
Tywin's gaze was unwavering. "And do you plan on mistreating her?" His tone held no emotion, no sympathy. "The girl's happiness is not my concern, nor should it be yours. Your duty is to this family, and she is the key to securing the Northern alliance."
"She's a child!" Tyrion's voice rose with anger, feeling the unfairness and weight of it all.
"She has flowered," Cersei interjected, her voice cool and indifferent. "Sansa and I have spoken about it. She is a good match, Tyrion. You should be grateful for the opportunity."
Tyrion's stomach twisted at the thought, his mind racing. "Grateful? For this? Marrying a girl who has already suffered more than enough at the hands of our family? No. Give me someone else—someone who doesn't hate me. A Westerling girl, perhaps, I hear that their daughter Jeyne is fair, and would do perfectly fine."
Cersei snorted with derision. "You should be thanking the gods, brother. This is more than you deserve."
Tywin cut through their squabbling like a blade. "Tyrion will do as he is commanded. He will go to Robb Stark and convince him of the merits of this union. He will wed the Stark girl, bed her, and put a child in her belly before the end of next year. Surely even you are capable of that."
Tyrion opened his mouth to protest further, but Tywin's icy glare stopped him short. Then, Tywin turned his gaze toward Cersei, and the room seemed to shift, the tension growing.
"As for you," Tywin said, his voice growing colder, sharper, "you will marry Willas Tyrell."
"Father—" Jaime started, his protest immediate.
Cersei's face paled, all the blood draining from her cheeks. Her voice wavered, though she fought to maintain her composure. "I will not."
"You will." Tywin's voice was iron, unmoving. "The boy is heir to Highgarden, and if we are to take Sansa Stark from the Tyrells, we must offer them something in return. You will secure the Reach, just as Tyrion will secure the North."
Cersei's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "I am the Queen Regent. I will not be traded off like some brood mare to please the Tyrells."
"You are my daughter!" Tywin thundered, slamming both fists down on the table with enough force to make the wood groan under the impact. "And you will do as I command. You will marry Willas Tyrell and finally put to rest the vile rumors about you and Jaime."
The room went deathly silent. Cersei's eyes flickered toward Jaime, who remained silent, his face tight with unease.
"Father, please," Cersei said, her voice breaking for the first time, the icy veneer cracking. "Don't make me do this again. Don't make me..."
"Not another word." Tywin's voice was final, his authority unshakable. "You will do your duty to this family, both of you," he said, his gaze moving between his children. "My children. You've disgraced the Lannister name for too long, all of you.."
Cersei felt the ground slip from beneath her, the sickening realization of her father's iron will crushing any hope of rebellion. Jaime, for once, had nothing to say—no sharp retort or clever deflection. The weight of Tywin's command hung over them all, suffocating.
For Tyrion, the enormity of what was being asked of him settled like a stone in his chest. Marrying Sansa, convincing Robb Stark—it all seemed like a hopeless endeavor, but Tywin had left no room for negotiation.
As Tywin turned to leave, his back straight and resolute, he added one final command without turning around. "It ends today."
And with that, he strode out of the room, leaving his children behind, their futures no longer in their own hands.