Chapter Text
The days passed on in subdued merriment. Her cousins and their children were fast friends of her own. Yet her sorrows were brought to bear once more when they crossed the Red Fork over midday. Ravens accosted them night and day, her father cared not to share them with her until she commanded him too.
That was how her world turned in a muddy tent in the Riverlands surrounded by shouting relatives and her fathers bannermen. She tried to push their words away by reading and reread the letter a hundred times. Myrcella’s lessons had been so helpful to her, too helpful. “The Lord Hand’s death will only help our cause, my lord.” Her uncle Stafford said. “Without him his grace won’t refuse your reinstatement, my lord.”
Tywin was as he always was … composed. He never looked up at Stafford as he spoke in retort. “His grace will think this is my doing. He will rage against our efforts if we draw too near. “Pycelle…” She said aloud as the thought crossed her lips. “Indeed, your grace. The King will think him responsible for this. The Grand Maester couldn’t save the last Hand either, how will this look to the King?” Kevan’s words silenced the tent. Had none of them truly thought of such a thing?
“I will not endanger the Queen or her children by marching across the Riverlands without cause. We will continue as planned … Harrenhal will fall to us within the moon. My son will destroy any resistance at Riverrun and join us afterwards.” Cersei had little to draw from, this could be a masterful plan or a mummer’s farce. The only thing she knew truly in her heart, was that she feared for Jaime…
“My Lord, has Ser Jaime enough men for his task? Ten thousand seems … short of what is required to besiege the seat of the Lord Paramounts of the Trident?” He looked at her before he spoke, he hadn’t given the same respect to Stafford. Was it respect for her or her title? Or was he simply incredulous at her words? Gods she wished she could tell…
“Your grace, Ser Jaime will not besiege Riverrun. He will burn everything around it and kill any man who can raise a sword against us. And then he will return to us.” He didn’t smile, it seemed he never did. But there was something in his eyes that made her think of one. “Clegane and Lorch will remain. They will see that once Riverrun has starved, those who flee do not flee far.”
This … this was her father, truly. The man who served the ‘Mad King’ for ten and nine years. Who paid mummers to sing of the extinction of two houses by his hand. Who led the sack of his King’s city to seal his allegiance to another. There was a feeling deep inside her, like when she first held Myrcella. It was not the same love she felt then. But it was … close. How could she love him nearly as much? She should be afraid of this man, casually speaking of the slaughter of thousands, but it never crossed her mind.
She bowed her head, a small show of her understanding. Her lord father dismissed many after that. Until only a few remained, those that she imagined were more trusted by him. Her uncle Kevan and her cousin Daven are among them. As are others without relation; Lord Crakehall, Lord Brax, Lord Banefort, and Ser Harwyn ‘Hardstone’, a plumm.
“There will be many more battles soon enough. And not against green boys and old men. The King may not stand against us as he is, but his brothers may. The Lord of Dragonstone will not sit idle while we put prince Tommen on the Iron Throne.” What? Surely he didn’t … no. That look in his eyes, he was dead serious, truly. “Father we can’t. Robert is still King, and I doubt he will face another beast while he mourns his son in his cups.”
There was something else in his eyes now. What could it be? Gods why couldn’t she read her own father any better than she could that fool knight Arys! “Do not worry over it, your grace … the King is in ill company, surrounded by those who would benefit from a King of Tommen’s age.” Those were not the words of someone without a plan. “Will you tell me of the scheme then, father? Or will you keep me as blind a bride as a widow?”
He shook his head. Such a simple motion. Yet it hurt her more than him saying the words aloud ever could. “I will take my leave then, my lords.” Cersei’s voice was quieter and she fought against the tears until she left the tent. Gods she was so stupid. Why did she think he’d tell her anymore than her so-called husband had? Did her ‘fall’ truly dim her wits so severely?
There was only one thing to distract herself from it. But … Jaime was gone, he wouldn’t return until after they had taken Harrenhal … and that may take more than the moon her father promised. What in the hells could she do to … well … there was one. One young man who’d be stupid enough to give her what she wanted, perhaps he’d keep it to himself as well?
Lancel was but a squire, but he was also the nephew to Lord Tywin. He’d been given a tent of his own … and when the sky darkened she found herself beside it. “Lancel?” She called out. “Your grace!” He exclaimed, pushing past the entrance and beckoning her within. His tent was smaller than his father’s but did not lack for furnishings, including a table and a single bench. There was also a wineskin atop it, she could smell the crimson liquid from the entrance.
She sat next to him. Her heart fluttered with the idea. Yet … the longer she spent at his side the less it seemed ideal. He wasn’t her Jaime … he just wasn’t. “Your grace … I’ve been meaning to say a few things to you, but you haven’t been alone until now.” Oh? Did he feel as she did? It certainly appeared so, with his reddened face and the sparkle in his emerald eyes…
“You gave me an order, before you fell … and I did as you had asked. And…” He looked so nervous? Why was he nervous only now? “I … I’m so sorry, Cersei … it was meant to kill the King … not lead your son to the stranger…” What? What had she … no. She’d … He … tears welled in eyes that once looked at the boy unnaturally … she’d entertained the thought of- of…
“What did I ask of you, coz…” She turned about, one leg on each side of the bench as she put a hand on his shoulder. But he didn’t look at her … why, why couldn’t he just look at her… “You gave me wineskins for his grace … they were filled with his favoured wine, you said. Tyrek said they were gone, that his grace took them with him…” No. She hadn’t. “I tasted some, I was curious. I’d only drank what my father had, and that was … it was stronger by far…”
“I killed my son… Because I’d already planned to kill my husband? Is that what you’re saying, Lancel?” He only nodded his head. Oh gods what had she done! She didn’t even remember it, she had no way of knowing! But she … she killed her son … Joffrey’s blood was on her own hands, not Roberts. And she’d the gall to say the opposite to her father’s face when she heard the news too…
“There is one other matter, your grace.” No. No she couldn’t take this. Cersei rose from the bench and made for the end of the tent. But Lancel was upon her in an instant, holding her by the shoulder, keeping her from leaving just yet. “Please … just listen before you leave…” She nodded her head. What in the seven hells could she have done that compared to such a thing … had she planned Ned’s death too? Jon Arryn’s? Little Brandon Stark’s? What had she confided in Lancel with…
“I’ve always loved you, Cersei … Ever since I became the King’s squire … ever since I laid eyes on you…” He left the rest unsaid … it should’ve brought her relief … to know that she wouldn’t be seducing an unwilling man, if she hadn’t heard that earlier news … but … oh gods … she already had, hadn’t she? Before the fall as well … She turned and looked up at Lancel … he was only barely shorter than her … even so young … His eyes, oh those emerald eyes … They said what he couldn’t … and it felt …
“Wine.” She tried to say more, but she … she just couldn’t. He grabbed the wineskin from the table … the one he’d surely sipped on before she entered … and she took it in her hands and she drank until she couldn’t anymore … only this time, this time she knew exactly what she was doing when she let it fall from her grasp … and she kissed him …