CERSEI
"He is coming." In the drowned light slanting through the high window, Tyene looked more ethereal than ever, a nymph born out of the rain. "The entire city whispers of it, Your Grace. They say the pretender's strength grows by the hour, that riverlords, westermen, and stormlanders alike rush to cleave their banners to him, and that very soon he will be unstoppable. You are outmanned, outwitted, and out of time, sweet queen, and there are thousands of willing traitors inside the walls. King's Landing will fall within an hour of Aegon coming ashore."
"Let him come." The queen was unimpressed. "How many men did Stannis Baratheon have? How many ships? Was it not said then that we would all be dead by dawn? Forgive me if I do not rush to grovel in fear now."
"Surely Your Grace does remember," Tyene enquired sweetly, "that we would have in fact lost that battle disastrously if not for the Tyrells? And I seem to recall a chain playing a part as well."
Cersei flared. "How dare you mock me to my face, you simple little fool? We won that battle because of wildfire, and it was I who ordered the Pyromancers' Guild to brew more of it. As for the Tyrells, their treachery was more rank than Stannis' – at least he had the courtesy to declare it outright. You told me just the other day that this so-called Aegon could not possibly have taken Storm's End alone, unless Lord Mace secretly left someone there to assist him."
"So I did, my lady," the young septa said, with one of those sly, kittenish smiles. "And now a little bird tells me that the Tyrells have openly pledged their loyalty to the pretender. Our dear brave beloved Ser Loras is not quite so dead after all."
"Nothing those rose-wearing whoresons do surprises me anymore. But tell me, my dear. Not so very long ago you were also assuring me that Aegon would be blamed for the murders of the traitors. How is it that those very westermen and riverlords are now, as you say, flocking to support him?"
"Alas." Tyene gave an innocent shrug. "Who am I to understand the wickedness of men? It may have crossed Your Grace's mind that to kill the Westerlings and Lady Roslin in Baelor's plaza looked somewhat. . . shall we say. . . blasphemous?"
"The High Septon himself signed those warrants before Tommen did. If it offends him, he has my leave to prattle on about heresy in the deepest of the seven hells."
"It did most mightily rouse the smallfolk, not just the Faith."
"Kill them all too, then. Anyone who grieves a traitor is a traitor too. If they will not recognize the king's protection, they are welcome to be excluded from it."
"It would be chasing after the wind, Your Grace," Tyene said with a sigh. "And would certainly dispose the rest to open the gates even wider when Aegon makes his – "
"Have we no gold cloaks?"
"We have many. But they are at present under the command of some sundry hedge knight who can barely write his name, let alone keep order among such a fractious force."
"Where is Ser Addam, then? He told us about the false Jeyne, he can bloody well deal with the repercussions. Send a raven to Ashemark, tell him to return immediately and take up his post as Lord Commander of the City Watch. Elsewise. . ."
"A raven has been sent to Ashemark. It would seem he is not there. And if you deprive Lord Damon of his son and heir, one of the finest and final battle commanders that His Grace has left – "
"Ser Addam's place is in King's Landing, at Tommen's side. Anywhere else, in these days of war, is high treason. He too has decided to betray us, I'll wager all the gold in Casterly Rock. If he is found, I want him seized and arrested."
"The kingdom will be quite small indeed by the time Your Grace is through," Tyene said, with a breezy laugh. "Is there anyone you do intend to survive?"
Once Jaime told me he'd kill the entire world, if needs be to protect us and our family. That, like everything else Jaime had been too weak for, had fallen to her. "Myself," the queen said. "Tommen and Myrcella. The rest I can take or leave."
At that, she caught the briefest flicker in Tyene's eyes, almost as if the simpering chit was genuinely disturbed at whatever she was beholding, whatever monster she had set loose. But at once, it was gone. "That reminds me," the girl said. "If His Grace is in the city when it falls, the rebels are singularly unlikely to deal gently with him. He's but a boy, and worth a goodly ransom, but with their blood up, they won't care. They'll kill him on sight, a Lannister child's life as revenge for a Targaryen child's, so that this pretender may walk to the Iron Throne over the bodies of babes such as Robert did. Give custody of King Tommen to me, and I will take him safely from King's Landing while there is still time."
"Take him where?" Cersei sipped languidly from the goblet at her elbow. It was a bad vintage, as supplies were becoming scarce in the capital as the pretender closed in from the stormlands, but she cared not. "Stash him away in some motherhouse, I suppose?"
"I will keep him safe," Tyene said, eyes limpidly blue. "Forever."
The queen smiled. All of King's Landing was indeed in an utter moil at the moment; Mace Tyrell had organized no meaningful defense, which was only to be expected, and it was falling to the smallfolk to prepare to fight for their home, with their pitchforks and their clods of dung, against an army rumored to be tens of thousands strong. It will indeed be a red slaughter, and how sweet the sight.
Additionally, with everything male and breathing already claimed to fight elsewhere, Cersei was not guarded as closely as she might otherwise have been. Thus, she had more or less the run of Maegor's Holdfast again, and given enough time, she'd have the knock-kneed young pisspots conscripted for replacements under her spell as well. Hair grows back. It was said the poor were eating each other in Flea Bottom, that the sparrows were rioting, that a mob had broken into Baelor's and raped all the septas, but the queen was not moved. She was a lioness of the Rock, and they were paying the price for what they'd done to her; she hoped the mob had gotten Moelle, Scolera and Unella first, second, third, and hundredth. Best thing ever to happen to them, most like.
"I find myself rather bored presently, sweetling," she said instead. "Your request about my son would be best considered with some air. Shall we take a stroll?"
"Oh, we shall," Tyene said, rising to her feet from where they had been perched on a chaise together. Offering a hand to Cersei, she led her down the long, empty colonnade, through the heavy wooden door beyond, and outside onto the wallwalks, which were draped in fog. Flakes were fluttering in the air, too light as yet to settle.
The queen stopped. "Snow."
"Yes, Your Grace. Winter's come at last."
"Ned Stark must be rattling his bones in delight." Cersei tipped her head back to feel it kiss her face. Clean, she thought, it makes me feel clean. It had been too long since she'd breathed good air, stretched her legs, looked down on what little of King's Landing she could make out through the murk. Smoke mingled with the frost, a dark smudge twisting gently skyward. Somewhere out there, Aegon Targaryen was on the move. Not Aegon, the queen reminded herself, just another of Varys' lies. She had Tyene to thank for that information as well. The plump spymaster had apparently nursed this little deception of his for years, which explained everything about him, and now she knew what he truly wanted: his puppet on the throne. Just like everyone else, for all he pretended so loftily to be above the game. You should have had a cock, but you were much more interesting when you didn't. So I will be victorious over you as well. There were no words for how happy that made her.
At the end of the wallwalk, looking out over the moat, Cersei could see the pale shape of White Sword Tower. A sudden desire seized her. "We should pay a visit on my sweet brother. I hear he's not faring so well these days."
"It would be better if they remembered to feed him," Tyene agreed. "They were unsure whether Your Grace would allow."
Cersei scowled. "Have they gone mad? Of course I want them to feed him. He needs to survive until my trial, not die like a rat in the rushes." She was eagerly anticipating that as well; she intended to see that it happened even if King's Landing was going down in flames while it was. My sweet Ser Robert will be so disappointed if he never gets his chance.
Tyene spoke a few quiet words to the guards on the gate, and Cersei carefully crossed the bridge after her. It was the first time she'd left Maegor's since her house arrest began, and she had to resist the urge to skip, to twirl about and laugh like a girl. She was happy, she realized. Happy for the first time in what felt like years.
White Sword Tower was all but deserted. Since Jaime had murdered Meryn Trant, Boros Blount, and Osmund Kettleblack on the scaffold, there had been no word from Ser Balon Swann in Dorne, Ser Loras was off conspiring in whatever treason his family was up to now, and Ser Robert Strong had no need to eat or sleep, it had been turned into a prison for its Lord Commander. Tyene had the keys, of course, and it occurred to Cersei that when the time came, she might just have to help herself to them, in whatever fashion presented itself. She would have to be witless to escape now, with the city in such a state – Maegor's was keeping her safe until she was born anew in the flames. But after that. . .
At the top, the Lord Commander's apartments had some of the few real guards left, by which was meant a pair of gold cloaks not quite as outrageously useless as the rest. At first it had been Lannister men, until Cersei had learned of that and feared Jaime would attempt to trade on their old loyalty to him. These men had both lost kin to Ser Gregor's raids in the riverlands, however, so they were in no danger of sympathizing with Tywin Lannister's get. Ser Gregor. . . it makes the irony all but perfect.
There was no sound from inside the room, and Cersei gestured to Tyene to open the door. But while the young septa twisted the key, she did not reach for the latch right away. "Take care, Your Grace. He may be maddened, seek to attack us."
"Jaime can't attack anyone now. He lost his hand and his balls a good long time ago." Cersei pushed past and into the cell.
She had to blink several times to adjust her eyes to the fetid gloom. No one had changed the rushes, turned the chamber, opened the window, or otherwise appeared to enter in at least a fortnight, and it must be nearly as charmless as his accommodations under Riverrun. A few bones and crumbs of bread sat on an empty plate, which meant that it might not have been so long since he'd been fed after all, and a sweet stink of unwashed man perfumed the air, along with a rancid undertone that might have been pus. Well, he need not worry about that wound of his. Qyburn would be glad to take care of it, soon enough.
"Brother," Cersei called sweetly. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
"Do be careful, I said." Tyene laid a hand on her arm. "You don't know – "
Her twittering was cut off, however, as Jaime emerged from the dimness, suddenly enough to startle both of them. His shaggy golden hair was filthy and unkempt, a scruffy beard failing to conceal the hollowness of his jaw, and his roughspun tunic was showing spots of blood on the chest. His green eyes, however, still burned like emeralds, and the queen had to smile. He was always such a beautiful boy. Stupid, but beautiful.
"Your Grace," Jaime said hoarsely. "To what do I owe the honor of this company?" Every line of his body was strung in wariness, waiting for some trap to spring.
"You may kneel," Cersei told him, holding out her hand as if in anticipation of a kiss. "It's expected when you greet the queen. You needn't fumble at me with those golden fingers of yours, though."
Jaime flinched as if she'd struck him. Then his eyes moved to Tyene, and resolved into an altogether terrifying expression. "I see you have the. . . septa in your confidence still."
"Tyene has done more for me in a few months than you did your entire life."
"Is that why you've come, sister? To gloat at me?"
"Gloating at you is far too easy these days, you sad pathetic little thing." Cersei glanced around at the cell, one eyebrow arched. "Aren't you the Lion of Lannister? Doesn't it vex you to be kept in this cage? Should you not be fighting your way out, tooth and claw against the stone?"
Jaime was silent.
"No," Cersei finished for him. "You won't. Because you were never strong enough. It's me now. And when I rise, you won't even be – "
"Your Grace," Jaime cut in. "I hate to interrupt your moment of triumph. But I would request, should you allow, a private word with your companion."
Cersei laughed. "You'd request. Go ahead, try to win Tyene away from me. Ask her to set you free."
"I don't intend to ask her to set me free. If I agreed to stand as the Faith's champion at your trial with no demur, would you allow?"
"You will be their champion whether you demur or not." Gods, what a groveling wretch he has become. "Tyene, can you think of anything this creature would need to say to you?"
"No, Your Grace," the girl said, honey-sweet as ever. "But a man as close to the Father's judgment as he must surely feel the desire to speak with one godsworn. Do not worry. Having seen him now, I know there is nothing more to fear from him."
"If he's intending to confess his crimes, it will take all day. Do give her the abbreviated version, my sweet." Cersei turned on her heel. With that, she stepped outside the cell, realizing as she did that apart from the guards who shut the door behind her, she was alone. I could make a run for it right now. Though where to was problematic.
She stood at the narrow arrow-slit, peering down at the bay below. The height made her pleasantly dizzy; she wondered at that moment what it would be like to fly. To unfurl wings and climb above this dirty, used, disgusting world. If it would be more beautiful seen from up there, if the cracks would go away and all would be made new. Higher and higher, almost to touch the sun. I would burn, but it would be beautiful. And then –
A muffled thump from inside the room caught her attention, and Cersei turned sharply. Oh gods, don't tell me Jaime is making some tedious attempt at freedom after all. Though she would think better of him if he at least tried, rather than continue placidly to marinate in his own filth. He would –
Another thump, and something that sounded distinctly like a scuffle. She heard a low, vicious voice that could only be her brother's, a high squeal from Tyene, and then a final thump and squelch. Followed at once by an utterly foreboding silence.
"You imbeciles!" Cersei screamed at the guards, heart in her throat. "Get in there! Are you blind? Are you deaf? Get in there!"
The gold cloaks exchanged looks – and remained exactly where they were. No loyalty to House Lannister. It had never been meant to backfire on her like this. Instead she shouldered them aside and grasped wildly at the latch again, cursing herself madly. I shouldn't, I never should have –
Cersei jerked the door open and almost fell back through into Jaime's cell. And then laid eyes on it, on what was within, and screamed again.
Tyene was sprawled facedown on the floor, a slow pool of blood staining her halo of golden hair. Jaime was rocked back on his heels next to her, looking equally shell-shocked, a blunt knife of some sort – a supper-knife, the queen thought – clutched in his good hand. At his sister's entrance, he merely looked up and stared at her.
"What have you – " Cersei's voice sounded wild, keening. "What have you done?"
Jaime shoved to his feet. "I just saved Tommen's life. It came too late to save his kingdom."
"You blind – you vile – " Cersei flew at him, intending to claw his eyes out, but he jerked the knife up, still stained with Tyene's blood, and she had to back off a pace or two. "How dare you!"
"What? Save Tommen? Do you know who your precious friend was? Do you?"
"I know!" Cersei pulled out the folded parchment she always kept in her bodice, the one chronicling all Tyene's tales of the Tyrells' murders and abuses. "She was the only one who told me the truth!"
"The truth!" Jaime let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a scream. He snatched the parchment from her and read it briefly, then flung it down. "There isn't a bloody word of truth on here. Lies and more lies, after she manipulated you into killing the Westerlings and was intending to take Tommen with her and kill him too. I haven't been sitting here like a tame lion after all. That was Tyene Sand, a Sand Snake, the daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper who fought for Tyrion!The same Martells who nearly murdered Myrcella and are going to make Aegon king! You mad bloody bitch!"
"Liar. You bloody liar." Cersei couldn't look at the girl on the floor. "And now you – you – "
"For all intents and purposes, I've murdered a young virgin septa in cold blood." Jaime was breathing like a bellows as the twins circled each other, lions at the kill. "That might just make it unlikely that the Faith will accept me as their champion, yes?"
Cersei blanched. She hadn't even considered that, but now she saw Jaime's apparently desperate and suicidal action in an entirely new light. He'd not only killed her one true friend, he'd destroyed her grand plan to have him face off against Ser Robert. I am truly too weak after all. I should have ordered him beheaded on the spot.
Instead, she leapt at him.
Jaime hadn't been prepared for it, and she was able to take him hard and squarely. He had managed to finish off Tyene thanks to the element of surprise, but starving, gaunt, and his wound suppurating, he wasn't in any state for an extended confrontation. Cersei slammed a palm into his chest, feeling the scab break, and watched in pleasure as his eyes rolled back into his head. On top of him, her skirts tangled with his legs as they thrashed and jerked, she couldn't help but recall when they'd fought like this but turned their blows to kisses. She wanted to have him. Do what had always been done to her.
Cersei tangled her fingers in his hair and nearly ripped out a fistful. Good, good. She pressed her mouth to his, biting at his lips. Gods, it had always been so sweet to kiss him. She could not remember a time in her life when she had not kissed him, from their first innocent explorations to that night when they were fourteen, the night they'd finally turned from innocence to madness. She remembered his hands on her breasts beneath the blankets, him asking nervously what they were doing until she finally told him to shut up and fuck her. How clumsy he'd been getting into her, she far more terrified than she pretended, too tight and too dry, but somehow they worked it out. The pain of her maidenhead as it broke had been the sweetest pain, but she had enough time to be scared that her future husband would be able to tell, that he'd not want her, would put her aside, or worse. Then it seemed ludicrous to be thinking of any other man at all but the one inside her now, still asking if he was hurting her, and how she kissed him to make him quiet. If the maidservant had heard. . . if any of them had heard. . . there in the Rock they made it their own, and from then on they were done for.
Lyanna. Lyanna. Lyanna. Whispered in her ear on her wedding night. And then every so often Robert had done this to her. Taken her whether she willed it or not. I screamed for him to stop, and no one ever raised a finger. Jaime told me what Darry said, when they heard Aerys raping Rhaella. He might have heard me screaming as well, but he never stopped Robert either.
Jaime was struggling violently underneath her. Cersei began to cry as she kissed him again, then grasped hold of his balls and dug her fingernails in hard enough that she hoped they bled. I am stronger without you, she meant to tell him, but when had that ever been true? I am lost without my other half. But you left me first, and I will not suffer betrayal.
Jaime's golden hand cracked her across the face. She hit his scab again, making him convulse, and snatched his wrist and pushed it away. She pulled at her skirts with her free hand, straddling him, grinding down hard. Fumbled at the laces of his breeches, got his cock out but could not get him into her. Tore at him with her nails, beating her elbow over and over into his face, until at last he rose up like a whirlwind, with a mad unthinking strength, and slammed her off into the floor.
Cersei landed hard, barely missing Tyene's stiffening corpse, and skidded, sobbing. She lay there curled up, gasping, shaking, almost retching with the force of her grief. Lyanna. Lyanna. Lyanna. And Jaime, stupid bloody thrice-damned Jaime, who she hated so much that she could never stop loving him.
"You. . . gods, what did I do?" She got to hands and knees and crawled to him, begging. "Jaime, I'm so. . ." The apology would not form in her throat. "Jaime. . . my sweet, my sweetling, I hurt you, I know I did, I'm. . . please, Jaime, my love. . . my darling boy. . ."
Jaime had fallen back, spread-eagled and bleeding. His eyes as he looked at her were nothing human. His voice was a savage whisper. "Get away from me."
"Please." Cersei reached for him. "I'll get you out of here. Say you love me, and you can walk out with me even now. I'll forgive you everything. Lancel, Osmund, Taena, Osney, all of them, they served me as they could what little they could, but none of them were you. Oh gods, Jaime, I know you did it to protect Tommen, our sweet boy, our last son. . ."
Jaime fumbled himself into his breeches and laced up. He backed away from her. "Get out."
"Jaime, no," she wept. "Please. I'm so sorry. For everything. You never knew what it was like, I never wanted it with anyone but you. Marry me. I'll forgive you. We can live or die together, as we were meant to."
Jaime kept backing toward the door.
Seeing him, watching him, knowing that he was leaving her forever, shattered Cersei completely. He killed her. He killed Tyene, he killed Trant and Blount and Kettleblack, he killed them all. I hate him too.
Struggling, blind, she got to her feet, almost slipping in Tyene's blood. No one must know. No one. She crossed the room and opened the door, then dove through it and slammed it in Jaime's face behind her. It felt like cutting out her heart, and she sank down against it, pressing her hands against it, gagging on her sobs.
Someone must have heard her screaming, for when Cersei opened her eyes at last, it was to find a concerned, fatherly face hovering in the advancing dusk. Qyburn. "Your Grace? Are you well?"
"No," Cersei said. "Yes." She began to giggle. "No." She began to cry.
"My lady, come with me." Qyburn tried to help her up. "You should not be out of your chambers."
"Is the pretender come yet?" Cersei asked as he lifted her. He was stronger than his size would suggest. Though gods know what he came to grips with in the black cells. A man as large as a mountain, for instance. She clung to him; her legs were on the verge of giving out.
"Not yet. But the bells begin to sound." Qyburn indicated the window. Sure enough, Cersei could faintly hear their deep, doleful song, calling through the mist. They ring for woe. War and woe. And the death of kings.
"My son," she said numbly. "Tommen. Is he safe?"
"The king sleeps peacefully," Qyburn assured her. "No man, be he Aegon the Conqueror reborn or merely a false Aegon, will breach the walls of Maegor's Holdfast."
Cersei let out a shuddering breath. She glanced warily at the door of Jaime's cell, but it was utterly silent beyond. Turning to Qyburn, she said in an undertone, "It comes time that we put our other plan in train after all." Tyene was not her only ally.
A slow smile spread across the chainless maester's face. "As it so happens," he said, in the tone of an academic contemplating a particularly vexing problem, "I have long wondered what would have happened if King Aerys had succeeded the first time. Wildfire is such a fickle substance, after all. And with a boy calling himself a Targaryen at our gates, it would be a moment long remembered in the world."
"No," Cersei said. "It would be the end of it."
"Of the city, at least," Qyburn agreed. "Your Grace, I will find some errand to take me to the Pyromancers' Guild this very night."
"Good," Cersei said. "Tell them that I desire all their wildfire. Tell them that I desire it most ardently."
"I shall." Qyburn took her arm, leading her back down the stairs. Her head felt as light as a bauble of glass. "And if I understand Your Grace's intentions. . ."
"Wait for Aegon to breach the city walls," Cersei said. "Wait for them all to come inside, then do what has to be done. The Red Keep will not burn, of course, but the rest. . . cleanse it entirely. Cleanse it once and for all. I need you in this, my lord, as I yet need Ser Robert. You will not fail me."
"I shall not," the defrocked maester agreed. "And this time, there will be no mistakes."
No, the queen thought. Green flames danced in her head, belching a hundred, a thousand feet high. She only hoped the pyromancers had enough time to lay in a decent cache before the pretender came calling. No, there will not.