CERSEI
From the high window in Maegor's Holdfast, the queen could watch the barges laboring up the Blackwater, riding low and heavy with the cargos of freight, food, and weaponry they were bringing from Highgarden. For each barge there were at least two armed escorts, as it couldn't have escaped even the Fat Flower's piercing recollection that to bring so much largesse to a starving, panicking city would be an exercise in sheer calamity otherwise. And the gods only knew how much of it went astray anyway. Even Mace Tyrell would not be wasting this much charity on gangs of pustulant guttersnipes if not for the fact that his precious daughter was still awaiting her trial by the Faith. Polishing up his pious bona fides in the interim couldn't hurt, and in addition, it reminded the sheep of King's Landing how much they loved House Tyrell, who had saved them from Stannis in the battle and who fed and cared for them, while the lions stayed disdainfully shut up in their towers.
Fools. The queen turned sharply and began to pace across the floor. Stripped of her royal apartments and garb and authority, she had been granted only these cramped, bare rooms, a plain brown dress of homespun, and the company of one cloying septa. Though Cersei did consider Tyene something of an improvement over the sour old cunts Moelle, Unella, and Scolera; she at least seemed to have half a brain, though she was so sweet and simple that it oft put the queen's teeth on edge. But when she had angrily informed Tyene that the Tyrells were perfumed traitors prancing about the court and practicing their villainies in plain sight, the girl had gotten a queer smile and nodded. After that, scarce a day had gone by without Tyene bringing her another piece of gossip about some trickery, some ill-doing, some threat or bribe or underhanded coercion that the roses had dared to carry out, and on Cersei's request, she brought as well a parchment and quill for the queen to keep record of them all. The Tyrells have stolen my sons, my kingdom, my father and my uncle. I will see them burn.
Cersei felt little personal grief for her uncle's inexplicable demise. Ser Kevan had been useless since Lord Tywin's death anyway, rejected her offer of co-rule and tried to pack her back off to Casterly Rock, made no effort to free her from the Great Sept of Baelor, and had even been so treasonous as to appoint Mace Tyrell Hand himself. The queen considered it suitably ironic that the Tyrells had subsequently been the ones to murder him; there was no proof, but she did not need proof. Those are the wages for your sin, my lord. You betrayed my son, your rightful liege lady, and House Lannister itself. You got what you deserved.
The discovery of her uncle's body with a crossbow bolt in the stomach, the same way her father had died, had erased any doubts Cersei ever had (not many) that the Tyrells and her repulsive little brother were in this together. Tyrion had killed Joff, he had killed Mother and Father, he'd killed Uncle Kevan, and he'd kill Tommen too, as soon as he got the chance. They told her that the dwarf had fled across the narrow sea, but the queen did not believe a word of it. He is here, hiding in the walls. The Imp was a small man, after all. No one but Maegor the Cruel had known all the secrets of the Red Keep, though Varys might run a close second. And since no one had seen the eunuch either, the Tyrells must either have enlisted his cooperation or arranged his elimination. No loss. She had Qyburn for that now. Qyburn for everything.
Cersei desisted from her pacing and sat down on the settle. Of all the plots of hers that had been knocked off their trivets by the events of the last few months, she most greatly rued the failure to assassinate Trystane Martell. It had been so simple, so neat, and though Ser Balon Swann was not the catspaw she would have chosen – he had a troublesome streak of honor that surfaced at the most inopportune moments – he was equally honor-bound to obey. The queen had found it deliciously ironic, again, but Swann must have made a botch of it, spilled all to gouty old Prince Doran and his sluttish daughter.
Tyrion forced the Martell match on me, I had no choice. Cersei was aware that Myrcella had conceived a youthful passion for her swarthy little betrothed, but the Martells had repaid that trust by slashing off her ear, scarring her permanently, and using her as a pawn in their vengeful schemes against Tommen. And Oberyn fought for Tyrion. Before she died, Cersei intended to see every stone torn from Sunspear and cast into the sea. A few servings of wildfire would not go amiss either. See how you like that heat, you seven devils.
There would be ample time to do it. Qyburn had promised it. As soon as the Faith got around to remembering her – there was so much else to throw hypocritical sanctimonious fits over, just now – her trial would take place, and her innocence proven. Ser Robert Strong cannot be killed by any man, the queen reminded herself. She knew what Qyburn was, she knew what he did – well, some of it, she did not need her supper ruined by all the grotesque details of what went on in the black cells. But she did know that Ser Robert was not human, that there was no face or voice or soul remaining in that monolith. No matter. One Robert caged me, and this one will set me free. Even Tyrion would be out of luck trying to bring Strong down before the trial.
Cersei had to smile. With the brave Ser Robert on her side, it mattered less that Jaime had abandoned her and – reportedly – run off with some ugly wench he'd chanced upon in the riverlands. All the use had deserted Jaime with his sword hand; at the rate he was going, he should join their cousin Lancel and paint a seven-pointed star on his shield, wear a chafing cilice as his smallclothes. He could even be the champion for the Faith. It amused the queen to picture Jaime and Ser Robert squaring off against each other at her trial. It may not please her to see her twin die, but it would certainly please her to see him good and suffer. I needed you, I begged for you, I bled to you and told you how much I loved you, and you still betrayed me. Even you.
Jaime had always been like that. A fool. Perhaps only now she was truly able to see it. Cersei remembered a summer afternoon in Casterly Rock when they were seven years old, one of the days they had decided to exchange clothes and play at being the other. She had laced Jaime into her green damask dress, giggling, and insisted on brushing and braiding his hair and tying it with ribbons. She already had on Jaime's tunic and hose and boots, the golden lion emblazoned proudly on the front, and shook out her curls in a wild tangle, as Jaime always looked as if he had fallen headfirst into a thornbush no matter the state his clothes had been in prior to being inflicted on him. She belted on his cherished toy sword as well, despite his objections, and had to remind him to walk with delicate small steps, so as not to trod on the Myrish lace hem of the dress and tear it off. When he complained, she told him that it was like that for her every day, and galloped down the hall, jumped off the stairs, and bolted into the sunshine.
Outside in the courtyard, her father had seen her and smiled. Mother was alive back then, that was before Tyrion arrived to destroy all their lives, and so Lord Tywin Lannister still smiled. "Jaime, lad," he'd said, and ruffled her hair. "Addam tells me that you were the chief culprit in a food fight in the nursery last night. You do know that is rather undignified behavior for a lion, do you not? Lions needn't fight their food, only eat it."
She gave an easy shrug, because that was what Jaime would have done. He and copper-haired Addam Marbrand, whom she had resented bitterly until Jaime reassured her that he still loved her better, had indeed chased each other around the room with fistfuls of supper, until the horrified ingress of the nurse put an abrupt end to the jollity. "It would turn out bad for the food," she said. "Lions like to kill it beforehand."
Lord Tywin chuckled. "So they do. Well, run along – and if you see your sister, the septa wants to speak with her. I have to ride back to court tomorrow, Aerys was reluctant to grant me even this much time away, but stay out of trouble and make me proud. I hear you're becoming a fine touch with a sword."
"I am," she said, hoping he wouldn't ask her to demonstrate. She'd gotten another smile and scampered away, and by the great hall, spotted Jaime pulling awful faces as the selfsame septa upbraided him for forgetting to memorize the Maiden's Book yet again. But when she ventured around to the armory, she stumbled upon three guardsmen sharing a leisurely cup of wine and crude jests about the late Lord Tytos' brazen mistress, and her walk of shame through the streets of Lannisport. If only I had known. She had stood there listening as they casually insulted her House and her grandfather, until one of them finally looked up, saw her, and blanched. "Little Lord Jaime. You. . . you'll keep this a secret between us lads, won't you? You won't mention this to your father?"
"I won't," she said, because Jaime wouldn't have. He never took anything seriously, would have laughed right along with them. He never understood what it meant to be a Lannister. Trying very hard to sound adult, she added, "That must have been the first time a lion was beaten by a pussy. A pussycat, I mean."
They'd roared with laughter and sent her on her way. That night at supper, when she and Jaime had gone back to being themselves, she told her father anyway. Lord Tywin summoned the offenders on the instant, asked if it was true, and upon hearing that it was, threw them out of the Rock right then and there. He came close to sentencing them to walk naked through Lannisport as well, but Lady Joanna intervened. Afterwards she told Cersei that while it was right and proper to uphold the honor of the family, it was not ladylike to eavesdrop, bear tales, and lie, and she must not do it again.
Even later, when Jaime was curled up under the covers with her and they were playing at kissing, she told him what Mother had said. Jaime had only scoffed and said that nobody could be expected to understand. As for him, he reported, he'd spent an excruciatingly boring day pretending to be her and getting scolded by annoying women, and appeared honestly perplexed when she hit him over the head with a pillow and told him to go back to his own room. That was only a few months before the maid caught them together, and Mother banished him to the other side of Casterly Rock. So much I should have known.
Lost in memory as she was, the knock on the door startled the queen considerably. Angry at herself for it – and even more for hoping that her thoughts of Jaime had brought the real man back to her – Cersei straightened her skirts and called regally, "Enter."
The door opened, and Tyene slipped through, immaculately garbed and groomed as always. Cersei was sure that vanity was one of the septons' favorite sins to harp on, but she rather appreciated the young septa's wordless defiance. Tyene looked as innocent as – well, not a blooming rose, but so much so that no man could ever chide her with a straight face. Though a humble sister of the Faith should not dress more richly than a queen. One of these days, she might hit Tyene over the head and steal her gown, even if she would then have no one to talk to.
"Your Grace," the young woman said, dipping a curtsey. Her luminescent golden hair was tucked away beneath a linen wimple, but the tip of her braid emerged from the hem. "I'm so sorry, I'm much later than I meant to be. There is simply so much happening right now. I do hope our dear Lord Tyrell can manage."
"Exquisitely, nay doubt." Cersei fiddled with a stray thread on her sleeve. "And I'm sure, my dear, you don't plan to leave me in suspense."
"Never, my lady." Tyene looked at her with eyes so blue and guileless that Qyburn should have made a note of it. "Well, I suppose there's nothing to do but go for it. There was an envoy from the Quiet Isle to the Great Sept of Baelor yesterday, and they said. . ."
"They said what?" Cersei snapped.
"Oh, my lady, I so do not desire to hurt you." Tyene reached forward and took the queen's hand, and Cersei did not pull back. "I pray to the good and just Father that it is nothing but lies. But the man from the Quiet Isle told the High Septon that your brave brother was arrested there a week ago."
Cersei's stomach turned. "Tyrion?" Dear gods, dear gods, tell me it was Tyrion.
"No," Tyene said. "Ser Jaime."
Cersei glanced away. She was not quite sure what expression had just crossed her face, and did not want Tyene to see until she could regain command of herself. Mayhaps Jaime had never abandoned her after all. If he too had been placed under arrest on false accusations, they could once again share their fates. They might bring him here. He would go on being utterly useless once returned, aye, but. . .
Still, she was infuriated that the Tyrells had once again set new records for effrontery. "How dare they?" she raged. "Lay hands on the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and on what charges? Who do they intend to elevate to his place – Ser Loras' charred corpse?"
Tyene sighed. "I wish I knew, my lady. They seemed to be under the impression that Ser Jaime is harboring Sansa Stark. I would not speak such unthinkable words if it was not precisely what the man said, but it is so. Ser Jaime and T – the Imp must have been scheming together, if Ser Jaime has protected the girl. He even gave his own Lannister sword to that wench from Tarth, and offered to allow them to arrest him if they would only let her go."
Cersei stared at her. "You. . . you must be lying. The Stark girl and Tyrion conspired to kill Joff together, Joff was Jaime's. . . was Jaime's nephew and king, Jaime wouldn't shield her. . ."
"I'm so sorry, my lady. I heard it with my own ears." Tyene cast her gaze down. "Isn't it terrible of the Tyrells, truly? We knew they had no shame, but after they killed sweet Joffrey with Tyrion's collaboration, now they're taking his little wife away from him. Make no mistake, they'll find Sansa and wed her to Willas, and unite north and south to march against the capital."
"Yes. . . it's the Tyrells, it is." Cersei was scrambling at straws, heart pounding. "They must have lied to Jaime. Is there nothing they will not stoop to? These. . . these creatures. . . I'm surrounded by them on all sides, is it not yet time for me to suffer some regrettably fatal accident before my trial? Or Tommen? When do they mean to kill Tommen?"
"Trust me, my lady, I listen assiduously to any scrap of rumor, any whisper." Tyene raised those innocent eyes back to the queen's. "They mean no less than utter conquest, and the only thing keeping them from going ahead with their foul plans is the continued absence of Sansa. If you love your son, if you love your brother, pray that they never find her."
Cersei nodded numbly. She could not recall the last time she had truly prayed. Mayhaps in childhood, or mayhaps one of the nights when Robert crawled into her bed, dead drunk, and pawed his brutal way into her. She certainly had felt no inclination to sing praises to the gods while the sparrows and the septas degraded her. But by the expression on Tyene's face, she could tell that there was more to come, and wondered if she wanted to hear it.
"Well?" she said brusquely. "What else has this cabal of thieves and murderers been hiding?"
"Be strong, my lady. But Ser Jaime's involvement in this plot may go even deeper. Before he purportedly disappeared and then reappeared, he was sent to settle the siege of Riverrun. We did know that he somehow contrived to let Ser Brynden Tully, the Young Wolf's great-uncle, slip through his fingers – so to speak." Tyene smiled faintly. "But we did not know that he seems to have lost the Young Wolf's queen as well."
"What?" The shocks were coming far too fast and furious for Cersei's taste. "I swear, if you are lying, you'll die by inches, I'll give you to Qyburn, you'll. . ."
"What sort of talk is that for a godly woman?" Tyene shook her head reprovingly. "You know I'm your only friend, don't you? My sweet queen. It makes my heart hurt to hear the things they say about you. And I have the High Septon's ear, I do try to make him understand that they are lies, but he is a devoutly religious man, and so will believe the worst of women whenever he can. I tell you this only so you will be prepared to defend yourself against any charge they might make against you of involvement with Ser Jaime's crimes. It was his own childhood friend who revealed his treachery, would you believe it? Ser Addam Marbrand sent a raven to tell us all that the Jeyne Westerling in the Crag is a fraud."
"Jeyne Westerling. . ." Yes, Cersei remembered, that was the name of the chit Robb Stark had fucked and married, fortunately in that order. "She was supposed to be surrendered with Riverrun. Dare you tell me now that she was not?"
"Aye. The wickedness of men is truly enough to make the Maiden weep." Tyene looked very like the Maiden herself, and apparently in illustration, a crystalline tear gathered at the corner of one deep blue eye. "Ser Jaime supposedly met the girl and confirmed her identity before sending her back to her father at the Crag. But Ser Addam has established beyond doubt that it was her younger sister, and the real Jeyne has gone missing. My lady, this could never have happened without your brother's cooperation."
"But letting the little queen escape. . ." Suddenly, terrifyingly, Cersei wondered if she had been wrong. She had dwelled so obsessively on Margaery the entire time, but what if this Westerling girl was also a younger and more beautiful queen? She was said to be pretty but not stunning, nothing to lose a kingdom over, but it was Robb Stark's honor that had killed him, as much as the Freys. Yet Jeyne was a queen, she was younger, she had mysteriously slipped out when her survival could mean rejuvenation for the broken northern cause. . . she could even be with child. Sansa Stark wed to Willas Tyrell on one hand, a wolf pup and a heir for the crown on the other. . . it would forge together an almost invincible spearhead against Tommen, and Jaime had been privy to this. . .
"Did Edmure know as well, then?" Cersei said at last. "Lord Tully?"
"He did." Tyene looked troubled. "Sweet queen, I know this is terrible, but. . ."
"Terrible?" Cersei almost laughed. "He lied, he lied, and I want him dead. Him and Roslin Frey and all the Westerlings. It may not smoke the girl out altogether, but it may frighten a few informants into finding their tongues. Lord Gawen, Lady Sybell, the sister and whatever the younger boy's name is, I want them dead. Tell the High Septon, Tyene. Justice will come from the Faith or not at all." She had to take a moment to gnaw on the overwhelming irony. "The small council must be packed with Tyrell creatures by now. Don't tell them. Only the High Septon." I am relying on the High bloody Sparrow to carry out my vengeance. Seven hells, I am become an utter farce indeed.
That queer smile touched Tyene's lips again. "The Iron Throne is currently at pains to prove its devotion to the Faith. If the Most Devout were to draw up the warrants for the Westerlings' executions, King Tommen would have no choice but to sign them. Especially if they came directly from the High Septon, with no time for the Tyrells to intervene."
"Yes," Cersei said eagerly. "With any luck, it will be done before they even know anything is amiss. You are a true friend, Tyene."
"Your Grace is one of the few women who understands what it is like to struggle in a man's world." The girl lifted Cersei's hand and kissed her fingers. "I can only imagine how lonely it must have been."
"It was," Cersei said, absurdly gratified. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder what it would be like to use Tyene as she had used Taena Merryweather. Even their names sound alike. And Tyene had golden hair, whereas Taena had been as dark as night. It would be more like it was with Jaime. And the ultimate insult to the Faith would be to seduce the beautiful, vulnerable little septa they'd set to keep tabs on her moral fiber. What could they do about it? Arrest me again? I still have Ser Robert waiting for the trial.
Not yet, though. Not yet. She was too reliant on Tyene's influence with the High Septon to make a move too fast and send it crashing down. Instead, she merely kissed Tyene's hand in return. "Sweetling, you are too kind. Don't forget, I want Roslin Frey and Edmure Tully dead as well. Tell whatever fable you have to in order to get the Faith to approve that, but it would be better if it did not appear to come from the Iron Throne. Who can we get Lord Walder most profitably enraged at? Another Red Wedding?" She had not felt this invigorated in days. A tame lioness, am I?
"You are positively primeval, my lady," Tyene said, with a giggle. "As it happens, I have just the culprit. I do hope you are prepared for yet another shock, after I have already set so many on you, but. . . you know of all the disruptions in the stormlands? And that Storm's End itself has fallen, suddenly making Stannis Baratheon's base of support rather precarious indeed?"
"I had heard," Cersei acknowledged. "Stannis is freezing his arse off in the north, isn't he?" Nobody had told her anything beyond that.
"He is, my sweet queen." Tyene smiled. "But you must be wondering who took Storm's End. I am here to tell you. My lady. . . it is the season for men to reappear from the dead. A boy accompanied by Lord Jon Connington and the Golden Company has landed on the shores of the stormlands. He is raiding along Cape Wrath, has taken Griffin's Roost and now Storm's End as well, and is said to be preparing for an attack on the capital. Sooner rather than later."
Cersei blinked. "Lord Jon Connington drank himself to death."
"Such a sad fate for the hero of the Battle of the Bells, don't you think? If only it was true. And it would be a curious but minor development, if not for the identity of the boy who is with him. He must be lying beyond a doubt, but he. . . he is said to be Aegon. Aegon Targaryen."
In an afternoon filled with unpleasant surprises, this was undoubtedly the worst. "He. . ." Cersei failed utterly to have something to riposte to that. "You. . . you're right, he's lying, he must be. My father presented him and his sister all wrapped up in red cloaks to my valiant husband." Rhaegar's son, the son I should have given him. But the Martells took that from me as well, little frail stunted Elia who could not even stop him from looking to the Stark girl. Once her mother had thought of wedding Elia to Jaime and her to Oberyn. Instead I was wed to Robert, and Rhaegar was turned to ash, and Oberyn took Tyrion's side. Suddenly she did not care so greatly about the splendid revenge she was preparing for the Westerlings and the Tullys. She wanted to scream and run from the ghosts.
Tyene squeezed her hand. "Your Grace? You look so pale."
"I was merely overcome at the thought," Cersei said between frozen lips. "That was the last shock you have in store for me, I pray?"
"Aye. I am so sorry to cause you this distress, when you have endured enough." Tyene's face was a mirror of sympathy. "But if it could be arranged to blame the pretender for the murder of Lord Tully and his little wife, it would give Walder Frey someone else to breathe flames at – how apt a fate for a new Blackfyre, don't you think? And then with the Freys in arms, the Westerlings dead, Ser Jaime's crimes exposed, and the search for Sansa Stark proved fruitless, the Tyrells will be on their heels and badly on the defensive. Stannis Baratheon freezes in the north, and the smallfolk have no love for him besides. Who else can they then turn to, but your brave son?"
"Tommen is a sweet boy." Joffrey was the brave one. The true lion. But the rest of Cersei liked Tyene's plan very well indeed. Then I will rip out the septas' tongues with hot pincers, just as I planned, and throw Jaime into my old cell when I return as Tommen's regent. She could almost taste it. With the scale of the Tyrells' treachery unmasked in full, the Faith would have no choice but to sentence Margaery to death. If we can get this done in time, I may not even need Ser Robert. . . but no. It was best to have it, make a spectacle where all men could see, prove her innocence so dramatically that it need never be called into question again. "Sweet Tyene, it seems almost unfair of me to ask more of you when you have done so much already. But you will see that Jaime is brought to the city, from whatever miserable bolt-hole the Tyrells have squirrelled him down? I want to deal with him myself."
"Of course," Tyene said. Shy dimples bloomed in her cheeks. "The Faith has taken a great interest in Sansa Stark and the role Ser Jaime played in her disappearance. Believe me, if you ask him about anything I've told you, he will not be able to deny it. And if Sansa ever is caught, you can rest assured that she will suffer the full fate of a kingslayer."
"Good." Cersei imagined that girl, that stupid little ingrate, with her empty head and her harlot's smiles. I would have wed my Joff to her, I would have taught her how to be a queen, and she repaid me with this. She would have sweet dreams of Sansa on the rack tonight. And perhaps if we find her, we can unravel the thread that leads to my little valonqar. I will never stop hunting you, Tyrion. She still did not want to believe that Jaime could have been complicit with him to the degree Tyene was implying, but it seemed hideously apparent that he was. Next she'll claim that Jaime freed the dwarf from his cell, that night. And she might well be right. Her other half no more, Jaime had become Ser Kevan, betraying everything their House had ever stood for, her entire career as queen, their son, their love, their shared soul. After I have his confession, I will send him to Qyburn. Mayhaps Qyburn will hurt him as much as he's hurt me.
After Tyene had taken her leave, Cersei sat by the window, staring down at the streets. Twilight was starting to creep over the unquiet, hungry city, and she could see countless small, dark figures. More sparrows, more street preachers, more mobs, more peasants with torches and pitchforks. They were nearly a nightly occurrence now, appearing no matter how heavily Mace Tyrell applied the City Watch, and their tempers were unlikely to be improved by the dread news that a resurrected Targaryen was plotting an attack on them from the stormlands. Cersei had not been permitted to see Tommen in almost a fortnight, but she yearned to tell him not to be afraid, that she had helped save his kingdom in just a few hours this afternoon. I have done good work. I am fortunate in Tyene. She could see her plump sweet boy with his blonde curls and his green eyes and his endearing smile, his kittens. I love you. Be strong.
And as for the Tyrells, the Martells, Jaime, the false Targaryen, and everyone else who had ever spurned her and destroyed her, their reckoning was coming as well, faster than they'd dream. The queen smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like years. Then she poured another cup of wine, sat back, and happily watched Flea Bottom burn.