When Garlan Tyrell's ship docked at the Valyria pier once again, nearly two months had passed since his last departure.
This time, he was not accompanied by Margaery, but by several knights from Highgarden instead.
In the council chamber of Dragonstone, Viserys sat in the main seat, listening to the report brought by Garlan.
"Your Majesty," Garlan Tyrell's attitude was much more humble than the last time, "Highgarden fully accepts your terms. Furthermore, when Your Majesty requires it, we will provide an army of no less than fifty thousand men, and we will have House Redwyne's fleet from The Arbor assist in transporting troops when the Empire invades Westeros. The family has also authorized Margaery to represent House Tyrell in all negotiations with Valyria; all of us must follow her lead."
As he spoke, he handed over a letter.
"In addition, my grandmother instructed me to inform you that we happened to hear on our way here that the hand of the king, Jon Arryn, has passed away. It is said to have been a sudden heart attack; King's Landing is now in a state of chaos."
He paused, looking up to observe Viserys's reaction, but saw only a calm, unruffled expression on that handsome face.
After all, he did not know that Viserys had already learned the news several days ago; two letters from King's Landing had arrived on his desk almost simultaneously.
Moreover, he knew that the main plot from the original story should have begun by now. Thus, the time for his great counter-offensive was not far off.
He only wondered if there would be any changes now that the plot had been moved forward by two years.
After Arryn's death. King's Landing, The Red Keep.
Cersei Lannister stood by the window of her bedchamber, looking down at the view of Blackwater Bay. Her hands tightly gripped the balcony, a complex expression of pleasure and irritability on her face.
That old fossil Jon Arryn had finally shut his mouth forever. No one would investigate matters regarding the children anymore, which brought her pleasure, yet it did not make her feel at ease.
What irritated her was Tywin's attitude.
Lord Tywin had returned to Casterly Rock after Joffrey's name day, remaining indifferent to the entire situation in King's Landing.
Cersei knew he looked down on her; in her father's eyes, she was nothing more than a broodmare used for alliances and bearing offspring, an insufficiently clever daughter.
"No," Cersei whispered to herself, "I will prove it to him. I can do far more than just bear a few children. I am his most excellent and intelligent child; if I were a man, I would surely be his most perfect ideal heir."
She walked to the mirror, carefully examining her face. Fortunately, time had not yet taken all of her capital.
She untied the laces of her dress, letting the fabric slide off her shoulders to reveal a body that was still fair and voluptuous. To gain her father's approval, for the future of Lannister, what did this small sacrifice matter? After all, she never considered herself just a broodmare meant for breeding.
That night, when Jaime pushed the door open and entered, his eyes immediately lit up upon seeing Cersei's appearance.
At this moment, she had just finished bathing, her long golden hair draped over her shoulders, wearing only a silk nightgown as thin as a cicada's wing.
Jaime walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and began to caress her body.
"You should have knocked," Cersei said without turning her head.
"I did knock, you just didn't hear it. What are you thinking about?"
"Father," Cersei said softly, "Jon Arryn is dead, and the position of hand of the king is vacant. This is an opportunity."
Jaime's body stiffened for a moment. "You want Father to come to King's Landing? Then what about us?"
"He should come." Cersei turned around, looking directly into her brother's green eyes, which were identical to her own. "Robert is like a frightened dog now, paranoid about everyone. He needs someone to help him stabilize the situation, and Father is the most suitable candidate."
"Robert won't agree," Jaime shook his head. "You know that better than I do."
"He will agree," a seductive curve formed at the corner of Cersei's mouth, "as long as I make him agree."
"Let's not talk about this anymore, let's get started." Jaime didn't care about these matters at all; all he wanted now was to pin the Cersei before him down and enjoy himself thoroughly.
He began to pull at Cersei's nightgown, but she pushed him away.
She looked at Jaime with a hint of disdain in her eyes; she thought back to her previous idea—how wonderful it would be if her and Jaime's genders were swapped. She was much more excellent than him, save for the lack of male genitalia.
In a bedroom of The Red Keep, the candlelight flickered.
When Cersei arrived at the King's bedchamber, Robert was sitting in a chair before the fireplace, one hand clutching a wine cup and the other propping up his heavy, bloated head. Hearing footsteps, he raised his bloodshot eyes.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was coarse. "I don't want to see any Lannisters right now."
Cersei did not answer, but slowly approached and knelt down before Robert. This action stunned Robert; in all these years, Cersei had never been so humble before him.
She was still wearing the same thin silk nightdress as before, her graceful figure faintly visible under the candlelight. She tilted her face up, and those green eyes held none of their usual coldness, but were instead filled with a kind of allure.
"Your Majesty," her voice was very soft, "you must be tired. Let me massage you." As she spoke, she began to massage his calves.
Robert looked at her with drunken, hazy eyes. He had already drunk a lot of wine, and his mind was somewhat blurred at the moment.
Cersei's fingers stroked his calves, kneading with moderate pressure. He looked at this woman who was once hailed as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms; even now, over thirty, she still possessed a heart-stirring beauty. She was far more beautiful than the women he had slept with in various brothels.
For a brief moment, Robert seemed to return to many years ago, to the wedding night when he was forced to marry her. Even though his heart was full of Lyanna's shadow then, he had to admit that Cersei was the most dazzling rose of the Seven Kingdoms. As for Lyanna, one could only say that men are like that—they believe what they cannot have is always the best.
"You're certainly attentive today," Robert muttered, his body relaxing.
Cersei's fingers slowly slid upward, unbuttoning his tunic. "I have always been your Queen, Your Majesty." She paused, her voice dropping lower, "It's just that sometimes, we are both too stubborn."
Robert narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Cersei took the opportunity to sit on the armrest of his chair, her body pressing tightly against him. "Your Majesty, you are too tired. Lord Jon is gone, the Small Council is in a mess; you need someone to share your burdens."
"Share my burdens? What burdens can you share? Other than birthing a bunch of spawn that don't look like me."
"Your Majesty," Cersei's voice took on a sob, her body pressing even closer, "those are all malicious rumors. They are fabricated by Targaryen remnants and those petty people who envy the Lannisters to drive a wedge between us. Look at Joffrey, how brave he is, how much like a perfect prince. He simply inherited more of his mother's family's looks, that's all."
Her tears came on command, sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of Robert's hand.
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