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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 104: The Reed Keep
The morning light crept through the heavy curtains of the royal chambers.
Cersei Lannister lay in her bed, her golden hair spread across the pillows like a corona of silk, her green eyes fixed on the ceiling above.
She had been awake for hours, her mind churning with thoughts of vengeance and survival, of the enemies who surrounded her and the children she had sworn to protect.
The bed was cold beside her. Loras had not shared it for many moons, not since their wedding night had been consummated with clinical efficiency and barely concealed disgust.
He had done his duty, as she had done hers, and then he had retreated to his own chambers, to his own pursuits, to the arms of Ser Arys Oakheart if the rumors were to be believed.
Cersei did not care. She had never wanted Loras Tyrell in her bed. She had never wanted any man but Jaime.
A soft cry from the corner of the room drew her attention. The wet nurse was there, a plump woman with tired eyes and hands that had held a dozen babies before this one. She was cradling the infant, her voice a low murmur of comfort.
"Bring him to me," Cersei commanded, her voice sharp despite the early hour.
The wet nurse obeyed, crossing the room with careful steps. She placed the baby in Cersei's arms, and the mother felt the familiar surge of possessiveness that always came when she held her children.
This one was different from the others. This one was her revenge, her defiance, her proof that the Tyrells had not won.
Gerion, she had named him. After her uncle, the one who had been lost at sea, the one who had never bowed to anyone. It was a name that carried weight, that spoke of Lannister pride and power. It was a name that would make her father's jaw tighten and Lady Olenna's eyes narrow with suspicion.
The baby had golden hair, soft as spun silk, and eyes that were already beginning to show the green that marked him as a Lannister. He was beautiful, as all her children had been beautiful. He was hers, and she would never let anyone take him from her.
"Your Grace," the wet nurse said hesitantly, "the servants have prepared your bath. The Small Council meeting is scheduled for mid-morning."
Cersei waved her hand dismissively. "I am aware of the schedule. Leave me."
The wet nurse bowed and retreated, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. Cersei held Gerion close, her lips brushing against his forehead.
"You are my son," she whispered. "My true son. Not that Tyrell boy's. Never his. You are a Lannister, and no one will take you from me. I will make sure of it."
She had said the same words to Joffrey once, when he had been small and helpless in her arms. She had said them to Tommen, to Myrcella. She had believed them then, and she believed them now.
Her children were destined for greatness. The world would bend to their will.
But Joffrey had abandoned them. He had left in the night with his brother and sister, taking them away from her arms. He had left her to face the Tyrells alone, to marry a man she despised, but had to pretend to care for.
She would never forget the day she had learned of his departure. The servants had been frantic, the guards scrambling to find him.
But Joffrey had vanished as if he had never existed, taking Tommen and Myrcella with him. Cersei had wept then, had raged and screamed and thrown things at the walls. She had not wept since. She had not allowed herself to do so.
But now, with Gerion warm in her arms, she felt a flicker of hope. Joffrey was out there somewhere in the east, building his power. The rumors that reached King's Landing spoke of dragons and sorcery, of cities burned and armies defeated.
He had become something more than the spoiled prince she had raised. He had become a force to be reckoned with.
And when he returned, she would be ready.
<><>
The Small Council chamber was cold and dimly lit, the fire in the hearth barely enough to push back the chill that seemed to seep through the stones.
Even here in King's Landing, the arrival of winter could be felt. And if the whispers were to be believed, this might be the coldest winter in almost a millennium of Westerosi history.
The members of the council were already seated when Cersei entered, their faces a mixture of impatience and resentment.
She had made them wait, as she always did. It was a small victory, but in this city filled with her enemies, small victories were all she had.
Lord Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his face carved from stone, his cold eyes fixed on the documents before him. He did not look up when she entered, did not acknowledge her presence. He had never approved of her, had never seen her as anything more than a pawn to be moved across the cyvasse board of politics. But he needed her, as she needed him. It was a fragile alliance, built on mutual necessity and mutual suspicion.
Lord Mace Tyrell sat on Tywin's right, his round face flushed with self-importance. He was Master of Ships, a title that meant nothing and everything. He had no naval experience, no understanding of the sea or the ships that sailed upon it. But he was a Tyrell, and the Tyrells had gold enough to buy any title they desired. His presence was a constant reminder of the price Cersei had paid for her family's survival.
Lady Olenna Tyrell sat beside her son, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She was not officially a member of the council, but she was always present, always watching, always scheming. The Queen of Thorns, they called her, and the name suited her perfectly. She had the sharpest tongue in the Seven Kingdoms, and she wielded it like a blade.
Grand Maester Pycelle sat at the far end of the table, his old head nodding as if in sleep. But Cersei knew better. Pycelle was a Lannister creature through and through, a man who had served her family for decades. He would do whatever she commanded, and he would pretend to be senile while he did it.
Ser Barristan Selmy sat quietly in his spot in the middle of the table. He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and as such, he had a seat at this small council, but he rarely spoke or offered any insight. And that was the only reason Cersei had never objected to his presence.
She did not need more people telling her what to do...there were enough of those already.
Ser Kevan Lannister was also present, unfortunately. He was Master of Laws, a role that suited his cautious nature. He was Tywin's brother, Cersei's uncle, a man who had spent his life in the shadow of his more powerful sibling. He was loyal, but he was not a fool. He knew the game that was being played, and he played it well.
Cersei took her seat at the table, her eyes surveying the faces of her enemies and her allies. She could feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions that hung in the air.
"Your Grace," Lord Tywin said, his voice flat, "we have much to discuss. The delay is noted."
"I am here now, Father," Cersei replied, her voice smooth as silk. "Shall we begin?"
"Will my son not be attending?" Lord Mace asked, as he usually did when Loras was not present. Not that the King attended these meetings very often. Everyone knew that his title was just for show, and King Loras was fine using his time in different ways.
"There is no need for my husband to come here," Cersei spoke firmly. "I am the Queen Regent, in case you have forgotten, Lord Mace. My presence here is more than enough."
"How can we forget about that?" Lady Olenna commented. "You keep reminding us about it."
Cersei's jaw tightened. "And I will remain as such until Gerion comes of age."
"Yes, of course, Gerion. Your child, and..." Olenna glanced at Tywin for a second. "And Loras, yes." She paused, her voice dropping to a silken whisper. "But I have to say that you chose a very Lannister name for him, don't you think?"
Cersei's eyes blazed. "Gerion is named for my uncle, Lady Olenna. A great man who served the realm with honor. He was lost at sea, but his memory lives on. And yes, I did consult it with my husband, and he agreed to the name. I will hear no more complaints about that."
Lady Olenna nodded with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. The old woman knew exactly what she was doing, and she enjoyed every moment of it.
Tywin's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "That is quite enough of useless chatter. We are here to discuss the matters of the realm, not to bicker over names."
"Indeed," Kevan nodded. "Our new Master of Whispers, who could not be here today, has sent us some troubling news from the North."
This made Cersei pause, her heart clenching with fear. "Is it about Winterfell? Are my children okay?" She had not and would never give up on retrieving Myrcella and Tommen from Lord Stark's clutches. The only reason she had not marched with their full force was that her council would not allow it while the war against Stannis was still ongoing.
"No, it is not that," Kevan shook his head.
Tywin spoke next, his voice cold and measured. "Much of the situation in the North remains unclear. But our last reports place Stannis Baratheon at the Wall with his army."
"At the Wall? What is he doing up there?" Mace asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.
"We do not know. Our informers have been unable to find that out yet, but there have been some reports of an army of wildlings forming north of the Wall," Tywin said.
"Mayhaps Lord Stannis went there to help with the wildlings?" Maester Pycelle suggested, his old voice wheezing. "It could be some attempt to earn the favor of those northern barbarians."
Tywin's face remained impassive. "That would be troubling..." The only reason they had experienced some semblance of peace was that Lord Stark had yet to join forces with Stannis. So far, the North had remained in a neutral position, but they all knew that was not going to last forever.
Lord Mace chuckled nervously. "Maybe he will die fighting those wildlings. That would save us all a lot of trouble."
"Stannis Baratheon is stubborn, relentless, and utterly convinced of his own righteousness. He will not get himself killed so easily." Cersei glared at her father. "We need to send word to the Wall. We need to know what is happening up there. What if Stannis attacks Winterfell while my children are there?"
Tywin's expression did not change. "That won't happen. Stannis knows he cannot win a war on two fronts."
"Then what do you suggest, Father?" Cersei asked, her voice sharp. "That we do nothing? That we sit here in King's Landing and wait for Stannis to be ready and march against us once more?"
"I suggest we hold," Tywin said, his voice cold. "I have been preparing for his return. When he does... we will crush him."
"And what of the Targaryen girl?" Lord Mace asked, his voice uncertain. "The reports from Essos are troubling. Her three dragons are growing big, and she is moving west. What if she is coming here already?"
"She will not come here," Cersei said, her tone flat. "She is still a child playing at power. Her dragons are still weak, and she has no army, last I checked. A few lizards with wings won't be enough to take the Kingdom."
"But she is not alone, is she?" Lady Olenna's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Isn't your eldest son with her? You know... the traitor who fled east? And I heard that your brother Tyrion is also there."
Cersei's eyes narrowed, her hands clenching beneath the table. "What of them?"
"I have been told that the former prince has become quite powerful," Lady Olenna continued, her voice smooth as honey. "I hear he has dragons of his own, and sorcery, and an army of followers."
Cersei felt a surge of anger, hot and fierce. "Those stories are nonsense. I will not entertain absurd rumors. As for the dwarf... if he ever dares to set foot in King's Landing again, I will have his head."
"Ehm... well, returning to the previous topic," Lord Mace cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "Your Grace, we should perhaps consider sending an envoy to the Wall. The silence from Stannis is troubling. If he has consolidated his forces, we should be prepared."
"An envoy?" Cersei turned to him, her eyes blazing. "And who would you send, Lord Mace? Yourself? I am sure Stannis would be delighted to meet you."
Lord Mace's face reddened. "I merely meant-"
"What my son means," Lady Olenna interrupted smoothly, "is that we cannot afford to be caught unawares. Stannis has a reputation for stubbornness. If he is not attacking, he is planning something."
"That is enough." Tywin's voice cut through the tension. "As I said before, there is no need to do anything yet. As long as Stannis is in the North, he is no threat to us. We do, however, have another issue. The Ironborn have been building a massive fleet, and we do not know yet where they are planning to attack."
"Those squids... are they rebelling again?" Olenna asked. "When are they going to learn?"
Tywin glanced at Mace. "What is the word from the ports? How is our own fleet looking?"
"Well... we have plenty of ships, but we are lacking in capable crews," Mace admitted, his voice deflated.
"That is because the Reach has been slow to send their promised levies," Cersei did not waste time pointing out.
Lord Mace's face reddened. "We have sent all that we can spare! The Reach has its own borders to protect!"
"Perhaps we could look somewhere else," Olenna said, her voice thoughtful. "Any word from Dorne yet?"
Tywin made a troubled expression, and they all knew the answer already. Dorne remained silent, watching, waiting. The Martells had not forgotten the murder of Elia and her children, and they would not soon forgive the Lannisters for it.
<><>
That night, there was a feast in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, with tables groaning under the weight of food and drink.
Cersei sat at the high table, her husband, King Loras, beside her, his presence a constant reminder of the cage she had been forced into.
She drank deeply, the wine dulling the edge of her anger, but not enough.
Loras was polite and distant, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. He did not look at her, did not speak to her, did not acknowledge her existence. He was as cold and distant as the winter that had settled over the realm.
"Your Grace," he suddenly spoke to her in a flat tone, "you are drinking heavily."
Cersei smiled, her eyes glittering with malice. "I am celebrating, my dear husband. Celebrating how wonderful my life is."
Loras's jaw tightened. "You are making a spectacle of yourself."
"And you are making a spectacle of yourself with Ser Arys," Cersei hissed, her voice low. "Do not think I have not noticed. Do not think I will not use it against you."
Loras's face went pale, his hands clenching beneath the table. "You know nothing."
Cersei smiled, her voice sweet as poison. "I know that you spend more time in his chambers than you do in mine. I know the rumors. And I know that if the wrong person heard them, your head would roll. So yes, Loras. You will do as I say."
Loras's face went a shade paler, his hands trembling with barely suppressed rage. But he said nothing, could say nothing. The truth of her words was a blade at his throat, and he knew it.
But just then, someone else appeared before their table.
"My dear, you look radiant tonight," Lady Olenna's voice cut through the tension. "I just came back from visiting the prince. He is such a handsome boy."
Cersei flinched, her eyes narrowing. "You went to see my son? I left instructions as to not let anyone in the nursery."
"Oh please," Olenna brushed her comment away. "I am the boy's great-grandmother. Those guards are not going to keep me away. But... I have to say..." The eyes of the old lady became sharp, and her voice dropped to a whisper that only Cersei could hear. "Prince Gerion has the most... Lannister coloring, does he not? Those green eyes and vibrant gold hair. Just like you, but... I do not see much resemblance to my Loras."
Cersei's grip on her wine glass tightened, her knuckles white. "The child takes after his mother. As all of my children do."
"Of course, dear," Lady Olenna said, her smile widening. "I was merely commenting on how fortunate we all are."
Before Cersei could respond to the bitter old woman, something happened.
The commotion came from outside, like a sudden burst of shouts and running feet.
Cersei rose from her seat, her heart pounding with sudden fear. "What is happening? Are we under attack?"
"Your Grace, please," Ser Barristan Selmy said, his hand on his sword. "Remain here. Let us secure the perimeter."
Cersei pushed past him, her steps quick and determined. "I will not hide in my own castle, Ser Barristan. I am the Queen Regent. I will see what is happening."
She walked through the corridors, her heels clicking against the stone floor.
The shouts were growing louder, the sound of running feet echoing through the halls. She pushed through the crowd and went past the gates, her eyes scanning the courtyard.
And then she saw it.
A carpet was descending from the sky, and people were standing on top.
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