Chapter 27: We're All Mad Here- Cersei III; Tyrion VI; Jon XVNotes:
Wow, another four months since the last update. I'm getting consistent! Anyway, this chapter brought to you by COVID, both in the sense that an outbreak at one of my jobs led to me needing to pull extra shifts, slowing down the chapter's progress, and then I caught it, which freed up my schedule to finish the chapter.
I'd like to send a big 'Thank You' to my good buddy, Cachat, for helping me edit this sucker in double time to get it out!
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Cersei III
From the day she was born, Cersei had been defined by her beauty.
She came into this world a perfect, golden-haired, green-eyed, rosy-cheeked babe. A lioness, destined to one day grow to be the pride of her bloodline, with her equally perfect twin clutching onto her ankle. Cersei had once heard from an old midwife that daughters began to steal their mothers' beauty in the womb, stealing more and more as they aged. To this day, she wondered if it was true. She had few memories of Joanna Lannister, but the ones she did have were of a woman as beautiful as she was judgmental, judgmental of the truest love Cersei had ever known. Perhaps then it was only fitting that Cersei took and took Joanna's beauty until only her judgment remained?
Alas, Tyrion had stolen their mother's life like the monster he was, leaving Cersei's last memory of the woman being that beautiful corpse surrounded by flowers and gold.
'I wonder, did Mother dying so soon leave the process incomplete?' Cersei wondered as she stared into her vanity mirror. 'Had she lived longer, would I have been able to grow more beautiful than I already was?'
Was.
Cersei's hand tightened around the handle of her gem-encrusted brush, ignored the pain that shot through her arm, and fought the urge to hurl into the mirror. If it shattered, Cersei would no longer be forced to look at what was stolen from her. What Tyrion had stolen from her! Or, rather, the latest in the long line of things her monstrous imp of a brother had stolen from her.
"Burn injuries and the scars that come from them are unique," Qyburn explained, not bothering to look up from the concoction he was creating. "Whereas the wounds that come from a sword or arrow slice the skin or scrape it away, fire can completely kill it. Which is why treating burns is such a complex procedure, and they take so long to heal."
"I did not agree to take you into my service for you to waste my time explaining problems, Qyburn," she said. "You are here to fix them."
The old man chuckled, a warm, kind sounded like it should have been coming from some little girl's favorite grandfather. "Patience, Your Majesty. I can treat your injuries, even minimizing scarring. But it will take time. The burns are still fresh, irritating them will be disastrous."
"So you can do nothing for me?"
"No, I can help you. I can treat your pain and accelerate the healing of your wounds. So long as you allow it."
"I want a number. How long until I start healing?"
The former maester let out a small sigh. "It is hard to estimate these things, though I suspect you will start seeing results in… three weeks or so."
Cersei fought the urge to growl. Patience was never her strong suit. Still, she gave a sharp, unhappy nod, and waved for the man to continue.
"Excellent." The old man's warm eyes twinkled in delight, "Now, please disrobe."
'Typical man, only interested in seeing my tits,' Cersei mentally scoffed. But she wordlessly shucked off her green silk dressing gown, letting it pool at her feet. Removing her wig, so expertly crafted that it was nearly impossible to tell it was fake while Cersei was wearing it. 'Do you like what you see, Qyburn? The duality of my body, half a charred, blistering mess and half the remains of the most beautiful woman in the world.'
"Do you have a preference for where I start?" Qyburn asked, putting the final touches into his concoction before pouring the thick, syrupy mixture into a wooden bowl.
"Do your worst."
Qyburn let out a low hum as he stepped close. Dipping a soft paint brush into the bowl, he started painting the mixture onto one of the burn patches of Cersei's back. The one lowest on her back, she couldn't help but notice.
"Hhhaaaa," she hissed. "I thought you were going to treat my pain! Not cause more of it!"
"Give the medicine time to work," Qyburn replied. "It is of my own creation, a mixture of honey, grease from pig fat, thyme, resin, and bitumen. Together, it will serve to both protect from infection, reduce swelling, and sooth the pain. That, combined with continued milk baths will speed along healing quite effectively."
"Effective is not good enough. I hold those in my confidence to exceedingly high standards, and you should be honored to be given a chance to meet them."
Another chuckle and the man began to coat the burns that stretched the length of Cersei's arm. "Of course, Your Majesty."
The former maester coming into her service had been, in all honesty, a fluke. He'd been in the capital to study some rare anatomy texts in the library when he'd heard of the injuries Tyrion had so cruelly inflicted upon her. Doing his duty as any good servant of the realm ought to, Qyburn had approached Jaime to offer his services when other maesters had insisted there was nothing to be done.
In that first week Cersei had only vague memories of the man. To her, he'd only been a blurry figure that stood above her when she occasionally emerged from a Milk of the Poppy haze to help her drink some water, broth, or more of the painkiller. When she'd finally fully awake, Qyburn had still been there, offering aid with his healing skills and a listening ear. Though Cersei would never admit it, the man had been a comfort when she found out that her entire world had been ripped away.
"You must have great faith in Ser Jaime," Qyburn said. "My apologies, I misspoke. You must have great faith in the Lord Hand to appoint him to such a prestigious position."
"Of course. Jaime and I are twins, we shared a womb and came into this world together. We share a soul; there is no one I trust more in this world."
"Few are blessed to find such a connection, I am jealous."
"You should be," Cersei grinned, an action that pulled at the burn patch on her cheek. 'Many have been jealous that Jaime was mine. It is only natural.'
"So you are pleased with his work as Hand of the King then?"
Cersei opened her mouth to say yes, of course she was. She should have Qyburn whipped for even suggesting something so preposterous as her darling Jaime being unable to perform in any way other than splendidly. And yet... She found her mouth closing of its own accord. While it was true that Jaime hadn't performed poorly in his new duties, that was mostly because he'd done very little with the position. Cersei would find him in the royal solar, pouring over the scrolls, ledgers, letters, books, and piles of other assorted documents that Jon Arryn had left behind. He'd squint down at the pages before him, rubbing his forehead like he was attempting to fend off a headache.
When Cersei attempted to sooth him, her lover had the audacity to brush her off and claim to be busy. That would go on until she finally demanded he join her in bed and leave the mess to be dealt with tomorrow. For as painful as touch could be at the moment, it was all made better when Jaime held her, whispering comforting words into her ear as he stroked Cersei's remaining hair until she was lulled to sleep.
'You'd think for such a famously intelligent man, Jon Arryn would have been more organized in his duties.'
"Jaime is loyal," Cersei said after a moment. "And that is all I care about."
"Loyalty is very important, especially in such trying times," Qyburn agreed. "To be betrayed by a brother of all things, the heartache it must cause. I imagine the question of who you can trust is laying on your mind more heavily than ever now. Who could wield the next dagger? A maid? A Cousin? Perhaps even one of the Kingsguard? With Ser Barristan's betrayal, my faith in the organization has been shaken."
Cersei pursed her lips, "You're right. I've been giving some thought to disbanding the group, at least as they currently stand. Boros Blount and Preston Greenfield are dead, Barristan has committed treason by fleeing with my enemies, and Jaime is now serving a higher duty as my Hand. What good is half a guard? No, better to disband it and rebuild from the ground up.
"I should hang Mandon Moore, Meryn Trant, and Arys Oakheart for their failures during the Traitor's Coup, but they shall live for now. They're skills can still be of use to the realm in some way. However, I won't let myself be failed like the Kingsguard failed my Joffrey."
"Ah, yes, Princess Myrcella must be protected. Once she is rescued and brought to safety, that is."
Cersei's heart clenched at the mention of her daughter. Surely her beautiful princess, where she may be, was terrified. The world existed to hurt little girls, after all.
'She'll come back to me,' Cersei told herself. 'Myrcella will be back with me soon, and using her claim to the Iron Throne, nothing will be able to stop me from bringing forth a new dynasty of proud lions to rule Westeros. I'll send every hunter, tracker, and soldier in Westeros to find her if I have to. No castle will be safe from my search.'
Qyburn stepped away, the treatment and rebandages of her burns finally finished. "Your Majesty, may I speak bluntly for a moment."
Cersei paused, wig in her hands, and eyed the former maester's reflection for a long moment. On one hand, no one should presume to speak bluntly in front of a queen. It was so easy for one to lose themselves in the face of their betters.
Then again...
'He wasn't wrong about the pain,' Cersei thought, gingerly flexing her muscles. Her skin was still tight, and moving the injured parts of her body was uncomfortable. Yet Qyburn's medicine has already eased the pain without clouding her mind like the Milk of the Poppy. He'd also been correct about the soothing properties of cool milk baths, and how they'd done wonders to sooth the large, raised blisters that dotted her body like grotesque, malformed tumors. 'It is... reasonable to assume he'd have something else worth hearing of. And, besides, I can always have his tongue removed if he over-steps.'
"Speak your mind, Maester. I'll hear you out. Within reason."
"Your beauty can never be what it was." When Cersei tensioned and turned an angry glare on the old man, he held up a finger. "It simply can't. The burns run deep into your being; quite frankly, you should have died. Returning what was lost is not possible, at least not with my current abilities. I can repair and rebuild once your skin has returned to a healthy enough state. My time traveling throughout Essos with the Brave Companions, I was able to study many foreign techniques related to healing and repairing physical damage. Burn wounds are common everywhere in the world, though treatments vary as much as local tongues. And my time there has left me with more tricks than most. If you give me time."
"You've said this before," Cersei replied sharply. "Why are you repeating yourself? To simply ask for more time?"
"To ask for a chance to prove myself as more than simply a healer," Qyburn said. "Let me advise you. Let me aid you. Let me create ways to help you secure the rule you... and your daughter rightly deserve."
"And in return? Money, I assume. Power."
Those would be common enough motives. Comfortable even in their predictability. Father always said to be wary of those who came bearing gifts. After all, it was easy to hide poison in wine.
"I am a humble man, I have little interest in personal luxuries," the old man said. "The only thing I ask for is the ability to perform my research and experiments on matters of great personal interest. Though, rest assured, that same research could benefit you and the throne greatly."
"How so?"
Qyburn clicked his tongue. "If all goes well, I may have a way to ensure your soldiers and loyal men still fit, sharp, and properly devoted to your cause. Pardon my vagueness, Your Majesty, but I do not wish to get your hopes up. This procedure, for now, only exists within my mind."
'Strong men are a rare thing to come by, loyalty rarer still. To have a way to bolster the ranks in my favor... Yes, that is something worth investigating.'
"What would you need?"
"Space, mostly. A source of running water, a steady supply of raw materials."
"Simple enough."
"And, most importantly, a steady supply of fresh corpses."
When Cersei gave the old man a confused look, Qyburn just gave a gentle smile. "Anatomical study is vital to my research, Your Majesty, and I can hardly experiment on the living."
"I'll consider it," the Queen said after a long moment. "There are many others vying for my favor and approval."
"Of course Your Majesty. That is completely understandable."
"But... I think I can make a place for you by my side."
The Small Council historically consisted of seven members, owing to both Andal traditions and the Faith of the Seven. Currently, there were only three: herself, Pycelle, and Jaime. In a perfect world, this would almost be ideal, as it would allow Cersei to make all important decisions herself. Sadly, the world was not perfect. No one would take Cersei seriously if she didn't have the support of men with important names and titles behind her, for better or worse. Such was a frequent obstacle in Cersei's life, though one she was prepared to overcome. These people should know how folly it would be to doubt her. After all, she had managed to pull off a coup right under her father's nose.
And now here she was, standing in the Small Council chambers, surrounded by all its gilded glory, and staring down the dozen or so men in front of her, some familiar, some not. Almost none worth trusting.
'It is all a matter of controlling the narrative, of putting people who will obey men in the positions where they themselves are obeyed.'
And, for now, that meant putting up with the foolish men who forced herself into Cersei's castle, demanding to be heard and allowed to make decisions about things that didn't concern them. Annoying as it was, Cersei would endure it until such time a loyal Small Council could be installed. Besides, she could not be expected to sully herself with the minor issues involved with running a kingdom. It was beneath someone like Cersei!
"Perhaps we should open this meeting with a moment of silence," Grand Maester Pycelle suggested. "In memory of those who have been lost in such a short time, the members of the royal family and Lord Tywin, of course. His loss will be felt tremendously throughout all of Westeros. He was such a strong presence, so powerful and self-assured and intelligent. He—"
"That is quite enough, Grand Maester," Cersei said, cutting the awkwardness off. She took her seat at the head of the table —the King's chair— and gestured for everyone else to be seated. "My father's death is a tragedy, but no more so than either of my sons. We can honor them by taking Westeros in hand, and pulling it back into control. It is what my father would have wanted. No, it is what my father would have demanded. Had he not died at the hands of my traitorous brother and his cohorts."
Out of the corner of her eye, Cersei saw Jaime shift uncomfortably. "Speaking of... traitors, we need to discuss what we are going to do with the families that we are currently holding in the Red Keep."
"For their protection," Cersei said quickly. "As well as our own. These are trying times, and we must expect that our enemies will raise up arms against us. Keeping as many heads of family here, under our control, as possible is for the good of everyone."
In the scramble to seize control of the city, mistakes had been made. In addition to the Starks, the Tyrells and that horrid little Baratheon girl managing to escape, the Tarlys had managed to slip out of the city right before the gates had been locked down. Key members of the major houses escaping made this entire thing more complicated, as did Jon Arryn's death. She now had less leverage than she wanted, less than Cersei needed to bring the country to heel.
'For now, we will simply have to make due with the minor houses we have,' Cersei conceded. 'Combined, it should be enough to give my enemies pause when moving against me.'
Jonos Bracken and his three eldest daughters.
Jason Mallister and his son.
Timid and cowardly William Mooton.
Ser Morton Waynwood and his son Roland, both direct heirs of House Waynwood.
Ser Jasper Redfort, son of Lord Horton Redfort.
Old Eon Hunter and his entire family.
Lady Tanda Stokeworth and both of her daughters: Falyse, and the grossly fat one, Lollys. Along with Falyse's husband, Ser Balman Byrch.
Orton Merryweather and his family.
Mathis Rowan and his daughter.
Eldon Estermont, along with both his son and grandson.
'Not a bad catch,' she thought, a small smile playing on her lips. 'While many do not hold great individual power, combined they will likely be enough to put pressure on their Liege Lords. In the meantime, I will keep their minds soft, and their bodies comfortable. I may even be able to turn hostages into allies.'
"Trying times indeed, Your Majesty," agreed Ser Harys Swyft. "So I hope it would not be too trying to ask you to retell what happened, from your own point of view. My old mind... details can get muddled."
Old Harys Swyft was the Knight of Cornfield and the head of House Swyft. More importantly, he was the good-father of Cersei's uncle Kevan. A match that had been made in part to settle a debt owed to House Lannister. Cersei liked him well-enough, having memories of him since she was a young girl; though he was old and useless, he was never one to rock the boat, and had served House Lannister well enough in these past decades. Perhaps it was good that the man had been in the city when Cersei put his plans in motion. Though he was not a member of the… previous Small Council, his name carried weight as did his close ties to her family. If nothing else, he'd be easy to manipulate, and his connection to her uncle could be quite valuable.
"I'm afraid my own memory of the event is not as full as I would like, Lord Swyft," she said. "As you all know, after our enemies started their coup, my father came to my chambers in the hope to protect me from danger. Sadly this cost him his life when Tyrion arrived, pleading his own defenselessness, and stabbed my father in the back with a letter opener before coming after me. It was only by the grace of the Seven that I survived, though our struggles knocked over the lamp and set the room ablaze. Tyrion fled, no doubt believing that I would die in the fire. It was only later that I found out what else had been lost."
She paused for a moment, letting a troubled look cross her face. Part of it was for show. Men often bent for the tears of a woman, of a grieving mother. But then the sight of Joffrey's body, chest filled with gaping wounds as if he was a damned pin cushion, flashes through her mind.
'My son is gone,' Cersei thought. More than just dead, Joffrey was gone . The breath was gone from his lungs, the warmth was gone from his skin, and the movement was gone from his heart. 'My son is gone and I'll never see him again. I'll never see him grow taller than me. I'll never watch as he is properly crowned king. I'll never feel his kiss or hear his voice again. All of that has been taken from me.'
Cersei swallowed hard and forced her armor back on. "When I woke in the infirmary, I had to not only face the reality of my injuries, but how badly my family and I had been failed by those who should have loyally served us. Clearly that trust was disastrously placed. Changes will have to be made."
Her words caused the guards standing by the door glanced at one another nervously, shifting uncomfortably as they tightened their grips on their sword hilts. It was a pleasing image, a reminder of the power she had over all of them. Traditionally speaking, the room should have been guarded by a knight of the Kingsguard standing outside of the chamber so as to not overhear royal secrets. Today though, Cersei wanted them to be present. She wanted them to hear the full scope of their failures.
'You should be nervous,' Cersei thought, fighting the urge to smirk.
Jaime cleared his throat. "We should focus on finding new members of the Small Council. Having one established will be vital to regaining control of the— our Kingdom. The position of the Master of Ships has been vacant since the death of Lord Stannis. And, as it stands, the former Masters of Laws and Coin are also gone."
"More than gone, they fled the city after the schemes they made with the Starks and their allies to assassinate myself and the royal family went wrong," Cersei interrupted. While she couldn't know for certain that all her enemies were working together just yet, she couldn't allow those traitors to go unpunished. Nor could she risk anyone deciding Varys or Baelish were worth listening to. "They will need to be found as well, so they may be properly punished for such a treacherous act."
"...Right," Jaime said slowly, nodding in agreement. "Yet another reason for us to quickly fill those positions with loyal, qualified men. It is for that reason I invited Janos Slynt."
He gestured to the stout, frog-faced man sitting next to him at the table. Clad inornate gold-and-black platemail, he was one of the new faces to Cersei. She could only hope that Jaime had a good reason for bringing this stranger into her presence. The man, Slynt, gave a nod of acknowledgement to everyone else, but stayed silent as Jaime continued his introduction.
"Some of you might know him as the former captain of the Iron Gate, and the current Commander of the City Watch. His efforts were also the reason we were able to... secure some of the noble families we now have in the Red Keep," Jaime said. "And I believe he will be of even greater aid in the time to come. Commander Slynt, if you will."
The man nodded again, standing and bowing to Cersei in an appropriate greeting. "Your Majesty, Lord Hand, my humble thanks for the opportunity to serve you in person."
"Speak quickly, Slynt," Cersei said. "Success in catching a few smaller fish does not negate the failure of the Gold Cloaks to catch the traitors to the crown, Tyrion, the Tyrells, Stark, and that bastard pup of his, allowing them to escape."
A cold look crossed Slynt's face; his mouth tightened into a small line, causing his jowls to wobble, yet he dropped his gaze down to look at the floor. Cersei couldn't see his expression, but she hoped for his sake that it was one of shame. After a moment, he seemed to compose himself. "And I endeavor to make up for my previous failure, Queen Cersei."
"How so?"
Clearing his throat, the man started. "I was born the son of a butcher in King's Landing, this city is all I've known for my entire life. I was a young man, one who only recently joined the City Watch, when I lived through the Sack of King's Landing. I'm sure anyone who remembers that terrible terrible event. Yet, for all the terror and pain it brought,—" Out of the corner of her eye, Cersei saw Jaime flinch "— it and Lord Tywin's actions taught me how important maintaining control of this city is for holding onto Westeros as a whole."
Slynt turned so he was addressing everyone in the room. Despite this, Cersei could not help but notice that he directed his words more at the men of the room instead of her.
'How predictable,' she thought. 'Does he believe that I am unable to understand my father's action? That I can't understand how important keeping the capital city under my thumb is?'
"Now, many years later, I have come to know this city better than most," Slynt continued. "I know who you would want on your side, who is loyal to someone outside these walls, and who would just be trouble—the most prevalent thieves and the like. I can share that information with you, and therefore help you maintain proper control of King's Landing."
Cersei picked up a glass of wine, allowing herself to savor the aroma of the dark liquid for a moment, before responding. "Oh, and what would you like in return?"
"Can you not believe I would do it out of loyalty to the crown?"
Letting out a loud, sharp laugh, Cersei said, "Forgive me, but my father taught me that every man wants something. So, what is it then? Gold? Land? A noble bride?"
That last one would be simple enough. There were plenty of captive noble-born girls that would do, as well as plenty in her extended family. What was the name of Lannisport girl Myrcella was fond of? Rosemary? No, Rosemund. Yes, that was it. She was a pretty enough girl, though her looks were a pale reflection of Cersei and Myrcella's own glorious looks.
"I merely wish to serve the realm, my Queen," Slynt said, voice slick as snake oil. "At the highest level that I am able. If you see the aid I can provide as Commander of the City Watch, you will surely see that I can provide as a member of the Small Council."
'Ah, so there it is,' Cersei thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
"That is... an interesting idea, Commander Slynt," Jaime said slowly. "Perhaps—"
"I'm afraid I already have candidates in mind for the seats available in the Small Council," Cersei interrupted. "Qyburn here—" she gestured to the man "—will become the new Master of Whispers. Hisexperience as a maester and a traveler have left him both knowledgeable and worldly enough to be a proper adviser. His personal service to me has already proven quite invaluable. Truly a man to keep by my side during these difficult times."
"I am delighted to have the ability to serve in a more direct fashion," the old man said calmly, as if they were discussing the weather.
Jaime, however, looked alarmed. "Cersei, you didn't tell me about—"
"The Master of Laws will go to my Uncle Kevan," she continued. "A raven has already been sent to him, and I'm sure few will find issue with such a choice. My uncle is known throughout the land as an intelligent mind, and skilled as a leader. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Swyft?"
The old lord hesitated for a moment, though he eventually nodded. "Yes. I have often admired Kevan's keen, strategic thinking, and resolute effectiveness. Additionally, my daughter speaks well of the gentleness that tampers those sharper traits, as well as his dislike for needless ruthlessness."
That last part sounded like a slight about her father, Cersei noted. Ruthlessness was what Tywin was most well-known for, and was the lesson she'd learned best from him. Still, Swyft was being vague enough, and saying most of the right things that she'd hold her tongue for the time being.
Jaime, for his part, also nodded. "Uncle Kevan is a good choice for the role. It would also be nice to have him here. He spent years as Father's trusted right-hand man for good reason."
Cersei smiled, pleased her brilliance was being properly recognized.
"That leaves the positions of the Master of Ships and the Master of Coin. Both of which I imagine that, despite your many skills, you are unsuited for, Commander Slynt," she said. When the man's eyes narrowed in anger, his face growing red, yet Cersei smoothly continued on despite this traitorous reaction. "However, with Barristan Selmy's cowardly desertion and my darling Jaime's assignation to the position of the Hand of the Queen, the Kingsguard finds itself in need of a new Lord Commander. Someone strong and loyal, someone who can be trusted both to loyally serve me and select competent men to fill the new openings in the Kingsguard."
'Slynt has no face for cards,' Cersei noted, watching in amusement as the man's eyes widened when he realized the implication. He nodded quickly and with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the display. Jaime looked less impressed by the idea, but neither he nor anyone else in the room spoke up against her.
"Of course, recent events have proven that the current Kingsguard system has flaws that need to be addressed. Thankfully, I am looking into plans to correct the issue."
Confused looks crossed the faces of all the other men present, once again filling Cersei with a sense of power.
"Plans?" Jaime asked. "What plans?"
"While I mean no disrespect, Lord Hand, I prefer to keep those plans between the Queen and I," Qyburn said. "It is always best to keep the circle of secrets as small as possible, for safety's sake. Besides, I do not wish to disappoint anyone if things do not go how I hope."
Cersei couldn't claim to understand the idea for "strong men" that Qyburn had explained to her. Yet, so long as the man provided results like he described, she didn't particularly care about the specifics.
"...Fine," Jaime replied. "Moving on from that, we should discuss the other Great Houses. Pycelle, who has responded to Cer— our summons?"
'Them,' Cersei scowled, bringing the wine back up to her lips. 'My enemies. Even now, they continue to defy me.'
The old Grand Maester shuffled through some paper before himself. "Lysa Arryn was the first to respond on her behalf of her son."
"That is not surprising. Robin Arryn is still quite young, and from what I've heard, quite sickly," Swyft said.
'That is too kind of a description,' Cersei thought. 'The weak little runt should've been drowned at birth. He isn't worthy of his position in life, not like my Joffrey was. Then again, that is to be expected considering his cow of a mother. Lysa was always too weak. Since the day I met her, I saw her for what she was: a woman who lets herself be controlled by the men around her.'
"What did Lysa say?" she asked.
Another shuffle of the papers. "Lady Arryn says that her priority is caring for his son now, and asks that her husband's bones be sent to the Eyrie so she can ensure that the late Lord Arryn receives a proper funeral."
"That's it?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Neutrality isn't necessarily a bad thing," Swyft said cautiously, clearly seeing where this was going.
"It's a cowardly thing," Cersei replied. "A disloyal thing. Write back to Lysa Arryn immediately, and tell her that she must declare a side or face the consequences."
"Of course," Pycelle nodded. "But, on the unfortunate topic of disloyalty, the Tullys and the Starks have both sent back outright rejection of your orders, my Queen. Should I respond?"
The outcome was predictable, yet anger still came all the same. Every muscle in her body tensed, and Cersei had to fight the urge to throw her goblet across the room. However, always the proper lady, Cersei maintained her poise and said, "No. I gave them their chance to repent for the actions of their kin and show proper loyalty, only for that generous opportunity to be rejected. What happens next is their own fault."
"Of course," Pycelle said once more. "Moving onto the other Great Houses, we have —perhaps predictably— heard nothing from the Greyjoys, Martells, Tyrells, and Baratheons."
"Predictable for the Tyrells and Baratheons, they're probably still regaining their footing after... recently events. I know Willas Tyrell wouldn't decide on anything without consulting his grandmother, and the remaining Baratheons are likely scrambling to find an appropriate leader."
"Should that not be Lord Renly?" Swyft asked.
Jaime met Cersei's eyes, their gaze holding for a long moment before Jaime looked away as Cersei took another long drink of wine. "...Reports say that Lord Renly was badly injured during the coup. There is no way of knowing if he is still alive, let alone in shape to lead."
'As if Renly was ever fit to lead everyone. That cockless idiot knew how to do nothing but prettily smile and say the right words,' she thought. "If he is out of the picture, that leaves Stannis Baratheon's diseased little girl as the only high ranking member of the Baratheon line. And she herself is under the control of that low-born pirate."
Old Lord Swyft tutted. "That poor little girl, she must be so frightened. She has already lost her father, and now had to witness her mother being butchered. I hope she is alright."
Ah yes, the Lady Selyse Baratheon, as ugly as she was stuck up and stiff. It was a shame to lose her, as the woman would have been a valuable captive. At least being dead she could not contradict Cersei's story, and it wasn't like horrid little Shireen was any threat to her so there was no true loss. And besides, Cersei thought there was very little difference between Selyse as a woman and a corpse, for as both she was cold and rigid.
"Yes, the world enjoys hurting little girls," Cersei said dismissively. "Pycelle, find out who Lord Renly left in charge of Storm's End in his absence. Pen a letter to them directly, reiterating that it is in their best interest to bend to my will."
She made a mental note to give Qyburn the same instructions. Both as insurance she'd get the answers she wanted, and as a test of the man's suitability for his new position.
"Right away, Queen Cersei." Pycelle scrambled to make a note of something. "Now, as for the Greyjoys... I'm afraid to admit that I cannot speak much about their current state."
"That's right, they've been strangely quiet these past few years," Jaime added. "Or quieter than usual at least. Are there no insights to what has been happening on the islands?"
"Lor—" Pycelle cast Cersei a cautious look before clearing his throat. "Former Lord Varys was looking into the matter, and I know he had some theories, yet he sadly burned all the notes and papers in his solar before he fled the city."
Cersei scowled. 'That eunice was never loyal to anyone but himself. Very well, he can take those secrets straight to the grave.'
"If I may," Slynt spoke up, "you could perhaps consult some sailors and fishermen who travel near the Iron Islands. If anyone in the city were to have an idea as to what is going on in those waters, it would be them."
"That is such an excellent suggestion, I should have thought of it myself," Cersei said, flashing the man a smile that stung and pulled at her burnt flesh. "Exactly the kind of thinking I expect from the next potential Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I'm sure you intend to take the initiative to perform that task yourself once we are done here."
It was embarrassing how a little bit of praise and a smile could have men drooling like brain dead dogs.
"Yes, my Queen. Absolutely, my Queen."
"Uncle Kevan may also have some information. If I knew my father, he would have already been investigating the situation," Jaime added.
It was a good idea. Practical, logical. It was so good that Cersei felt a twinge of annoyance that she hadn't thought of it first.
"And then there are the Martells..." Pycelle said, trailing off at the end as a notable discomfort filled the rooms.
It seemed as if no one wanted to be the first to speak, to acknowledge the dark history between the Martells and the Lannisters. One would think that the lack of an outright rejection of Cersei's rule would prove some comfort, yet instead it was just another enemy in the shadows.
After a long moment, Swyft weakly cleared his throat and offered, "Doran Martell has shown in the past that he will choose the peace and protection of his people over war and strife. I'm sure he will do the right thing for Dorne once more."
Cersei rolled her eyes. "Do not attempt to pacify me like I am a small child, Lord Swyft! I am no fool, everyone here is well-aware of the bad blood between my family and the Martells of Dorne, after all that messy business with the Princess and my father's actions in King's Landing."
"It's not just us that the Martells have a grudge against," Jaime pointed out. "There are the Baratheons, of course, and I doubt Doran and Oberyn have many warm feelings about the Tullys and Starks. And, while they may have fought alongside the Tyrells during Robert's Rebellion, After what happened to Willas Tyrell, there is no lost love between the two families."
"Perhaps that those disputes would be enough to turn them to our side," Qyburn asked, his voice low and smooth. "Especially if combined with something else of value to outweigh any desires for vengeance. The Master of Coin seat perhaps? Prince Doran is known as a frugal and practical leader when it comes to spending."
"Perhaps..." Cersei hummed thoughtfully. "But not until they prove their loyalty. I won't have someone I can't trust in charge of the finances of my kingdom. No, for now I shall personally handle that matter."
Jaime gave her an alarmed look. "Cersei, are you sure? That is an incredible undertaking, and you are still recovering."
"Of course I am! Do not forget, like all noble women, I was taught how to properly manage a household, and what is a kingdom if not one large household?" Then, after a moment, Cersei shot Jaime a glare and added, "And mind your tongue, Lord Hand. Your role is to advise, not contradict me."
.
.
.
"Yes, Queen Cersei," Jaime said softly, ducking his head. "My apologies."
"I do not suppose you have a better candidate?" Cersei pressed. "One you are sure we can trust?"
There were a flurry of titters, mumbled half-names and unenthusiastic suggestions that no one was bold enough to openly endorse. Pycelle in particular twitched as if he wanted to say something, yet wisely kept his peace. When the room fell quiet once more, Cersei knew she had won once more.
'As it should be.'
"On matters of loyalty, I must take the burden of bringing up that Kevan Lannister has not responded to your message either," Pycelle said, his voice meek and careful. "I'm sure he is simply in shock, and mourning the loss of his brother. Or the correspondence has been interrupted. There are many possible explanations for the silence, most of which are completely mundane. Still, it is for the best of everyone that his loyalties are clearly stated. If nothing else, it will send a powerful message to our enemies."
"The Swyfts, of course, side with the rightful ruler of Westeros," Lord Swyft quickly added. His old eyes scanned Cersei's face, as if trying to divine the best response from it. "As always, our loyalty is absolute, my Queen."
"How proper of you to say so, Lord Swyft."
Before Cersei could say more, Slynt piped up once more.
"Wait, what does it matter if Lord Kevan's responds? Wasn't the Imp his father's heir?"
' Only reluctantly ,' Cersei thought, grip tightening on her glass, too livid to respond. 'Father hated Tyrion. He always saw Tyrion for the monster that is. He should have thrown him into the sea as a baby, plenty would have. No, instead he kept the Imp around and let him sully the family name. A name that I, as Father's true heir, will have to fix. '
Jaime shifted uncomfortably. "Tyrion's location is currently unknown, but technically—"
"Tyrion Lannister has been removed from the line of succession," Cersei interrupted. "His traitorous actions have made him undeserving of the air he breathes, let alone control of the proudest of the noble houses."
Ignoring her twin's shocked look, she continued. "My uncle is a practical man. He will see that he must stand with family, especially with the allure of a personal seat on the Small Council. Rest assured, I have all matters related to my family firmly in hand."
Looks of uncertainty passed between all the men in the room, causing a spike in annoyance. "Unless, of course, there is anyone here who doubts me?"
Silence.
"Alright then, onto the next matter: heirs." Cersei settled further into her seat, and fought the urge to wince as the padding caused chafing against her burns. "Myrcella will be queen. I will hear nothing more on the subject! She is Robert's only surviving child. His brothers are either dead or turned traitor. The Iron Throne is her birthright, and after having so much of her family torn away, I refuse to let that be stolen away as well."
"That is highly unusual, my Queen," Pycelle said, before quickly adding, "Yet it is fitting, as we find ourselves in a highly unusual situation. Princess... soon-to-be Queen Myrcella is the only living child of the late King Robert, as you said, and with no other close male relatives to be found, she is the default heir. Yet there is still the issue of her currently being in the enemies' clutches. Even if the crown is to be hers, the fact remains that she is not here to wield its power."
"Which is why I have made clear my intentions to rule in her stead," Cersei responded. "This would be the case even if Myrcella was here. She is a child, completely incapable of ruling on her own. She still needs another to guide her. As both the Dowager Queen, and the Queen Mother, I am the only one who can do so."
"A regent is typical in similar cases," Jaime was quick to point out.
"Indeed," Swyft said, not meeting Cersei's eyes. "It is also typical, and highly beneficial for betrothals to be made. Especially with conflict growing on the horizon, I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone here that marriage is an excellent way to gain allies."
For a brief moment, Cersei saw red. "Absolutely not!"
Shocked eyes turned on her.
"Queen Cersei, I—" Swyft stammered out.
"My daughter is only a child, and more importantly, the Queen of Westeros," Cersei hissed. "I will not allow anyone to sell Myrcella as if she was a common cow!"
"No one is speaking of marriage proper," Pycelle said, raising a hand in a patronizing attempt to calm her. "Just that simply entertaining offers and correspondence with interested noble families could be a useful avenue to explore. As she gets older, Princess Mycrella will have someone to support and guide her as she ages."
"Mycrella will have me, and that is all she will ever need!"
Another uncomfortable silence filled the room before Swyft cleared his throat.
"If I may be so bold... Have you given thought to marrying again, Your Majesty?" he asked slowly. "You are still young and beautiful, it seems like a waste to resign yourself to permanent widowhood for the rest of your life."
Cersei was torn between rage at the gal of Lord Swyft to say such a thing, and the desire to preen at the flattery. Flattery that seemed justified up until Cersei shifted in the chair, sparking pain that served as a reminder of her recent disfigurement. After that, it simply sounded like mockery. Though, even as her anger began to rise, Cersei found she didn't have to speak up.
"The Queen has only just experienced the loss of her husbands, father, and two sons in a short period," Jaime said, voice tight and tense. "In addition to being terribly injured and having her only remaining child stolen by enemies. It is foolish to think that she'd be considering marrying again so soon after these tragedies."
'Oh, Jaime. You're always here to protect me; it was what you were born to do. If I were to ever remarry, it would be to you. That has always been my greatest dream, for you and I to live together as husband and wife somewhere no one knows who we are and cannot judge us.'
It had been years since Cersei had seriously considered that foolish dream, forcing herself to be content with their stolen moments together, and the knowledge that Jaime was her true husband in all matters of the heart, soul, and mind—no matter what the laws of Men maintained to be true.
"The Lord Hand is correct," Cersei said, gesturing to the lovely black dress she was wearing to honor her beloved Joffrey. "As important as marriage and betrothals can be for forming alliances, I am still in mourning for my dead husband and family. Everyone will have to respect that. However, if Houses start sending offers of interest for my daughter and myself, you are welcome to start cataloging them, Grand Maester. They may be useful for the future."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Cersei shifted in her chair again, wince in pain. "If that is it, then I suppose this meeting is over. I—"
"Not quite, my Queen," Pycelle interrupted, flinching when she glared at him. "My deepest apologies for speaking out of turn, but there is still the matter of the empty Lord of Ships position."
"The position has been empty since the death of Lord Stannis. It is hardly a major concern, especially considering the state of the nearly non-existent royal fleet," Cersei rolled her eyes. "When the Crown has ships to command, or when Uncle Kevan turns over command of the Lannister Fleet to me, I will find someone for the position. Until then, do not bother me about it."
She tried to stand, tired, annoyed, and ready to strip off this heavy dress and take another milk bath. Unfortunately, she was once again interrupted.
"Your Majesty is correct in that we are in desperate need of a Royal Fleet, especially with the seeming inevitably of conflict," Pycelle said. "However, from what remains of Lord Baelish's notes and ledgers, it is obvious that the Crown is... sorely lacking in the funds necessary to create a royal fleet."
"Do the surviving notes tell you anything else?" Jaime asked.
The old Grand Maester hung his head. "Only about the severity of the Crown's debts. Perhaps Lord Baelish had a plan for dealing with the issue, but he's left only chaos in his wake."
Jaime swore. "Wherever Littlefinger is, I'll bet he's laughing at all of us. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he was skimming funds himself; the Seven know Robert didn't pay any attention to what the man was doing."
Qyburn tutted. "Debts are never a good sign. They are bad blood, old stains even on a new foundation. The Crown should attempt to pay them down promptly. I can assume that several of these debts are to the Iron Bank of Braavos, correct?"
"Yes."
"That is not good news," Qyburn said, shaking his head. "The Iron Bank has a reputation of being... absolutely ruthless when it comes to their money. If they don't get it from us, they will back our enemies. It has happened before and I have no doubt that it will happen again. Debts to them are always paid, one way to the other. That is something I'm sure you and the Lord Hand can appreciate, Your Majesty."
'A Lannister always pays his debts, and Father often says that everyone else should be held to this standard. However, the debts are hardly mine! Once again, men have left behind a mess that a woman must clean up. Still, Father also said that there is power in gold and money. Or, at least, the illusion of it.'
"The Lannister family still has gold aplenty," Cersei lied smoothly. "When Uncle Kevan agrees to work with us properly, the Crown will have access to those funds. Other than that, taxes can be raised, and coin can be demanded from the traitorous families as repatriations."
Lies were important in maintaining control of those around her, Cersei had learned this at a young age. If gold was power, then lies were currency. Currency that she could use to buy loyalty from those around her. She could not be sure that Jaime did not know about the Lannister gold mines running dry, but she had faith that Jaime would not betray her even if he did. Uncle Kevan certainly did, though that could be dealt with in time.
'Gold isn't the only thing worth coin that I have at my disposal,' Cersei thought, remembering an idea she had considered while recovering. 'People are worth coin too, in the right market. Jorah Mormont sold poachers into slavery to appease his pretty, brainless Hightower bride. I, however, have both a more noble motive and more stock at my disposal. This city is filled with the dirty and useless. No one would notice or care if the poor from Flea Bottom were to go missing, especially if it happens during a war. War is a terrible thing, it takes many lives — in more ways than one.
' I'll have to figure out the logistics of gathering the livestock up and transporting them for sale, unless I can find a trustworthy enough middleman, but that is doable enough.'
Swyft clicked his tongue nervously, "Queen Cersei, I can't help but wonder if—"
Cersei cut the man off. "Are you doubting me, Lord Swyft? Because doing so is dangerously close to treason."
A look of terror flashed across the old man's face. "No, no! Of course not, Your Majesty! I just worry that, after everything you've gone through, all the responsibility you're putting on yourself could be detrimental to your health. After all, where would the realm be if you were to fall ill?"
' Caught yourself there, did you? ' Cersei thought, lips pursed in a non-pussed expression. She looked around, catching similar expressions on all the others' faces. "Oh, do not worry about me, Lord Swyft. Lord Tywin always put his duties to the realm before all else, including minor aches and pains. I am my father's daughter, don't any of you doubt that! I learned my lessons on how to rule at his knee, and know how to deal with my enemies. You'll all do well to remember that, as well that you are only here by my invitation. An invitation that I can revoke at any time I wish."
With one final glare at the stupid men who surrounded her, Cersei rose to her feet. "This meeting is over! Pycelle, Slynt, you have orders. Swyft, you may return to your family. Qyburn, we will meet to discuss things later. Jaime, come with me."
Without another word, she stormed from the room. Guards and servants scrambled out of the way, not even daring to look Cersei in the face.
"Cersei? Cersei, wait!" Jaime called as he scrambled after her. He followed Cersei into one of her private chambers.
Once the door was locked behind them, Cersei threw up her hands in exasperation. "Well, that was a disaster!"
"It wasn't that bad," Jaime said, already pouring her a drink. "No worse than some of old King Robert's."
Cersei paused from undoing the laces of her dress. "Don't compare me to that man! You saw the way Pycelle and the others looked at me! They showed me no respect, not like they did Father or Robert!"
"Oh, I promise you that few respected Robert."
Cersei glared. "You don't understand! You're a man, a trained warrior! Respect and the ability to wield power has always just been handed to you because of that thing between your legs! I, on the other hand, have needed to scheme, lie, and manipulate my way through life when I wanted to control anything. This is finally my chance to wield power in the visible, tangible sense that I've always wanted!"
'I have enemies lurking in every shadow. Everyone is watching me, waiting for me to bleed into the water so they can swarm and rip me apart. They want to take my power away from me like they took my beloved Joffrey.' She looked at Jaime, giving him that look that always made him melt. "You understand, don't you Jaime? You understand how I deserve this, don't you? You don't think me mad, do you?"
For a brief moment, her twin froze up. Cersei could practically see the words flying through Jaime's head as his lips quivered, trying to form words.
"Jaime?" she pushed, making her voice soft and meek. "You know I love you, right? You're the only person I have left to love."
And, just like that, Jaime crumbled. "I love you too, Cersei. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."
He pulled her into a tender embrace, being careful to not irate her burns. When he pulled away, Cersei found herself studying her twin's face.
"What is it?" Jaime asked when her lips dipped into a frown.
"You're getting older," she said, reaching out to stroke a small, barely noticeable strand of silver mixed in among the golden blond. "We don't look much alike anymore."
Sadness filled his eyes even as Jaime forced a smile. "That happens with all twins as they age. Time wears on everyone differently, I suppose."
"Joffrey looked like you when you were young. Better even, because he had some of my own beauty. He was perfect, and they killed him for it. Just like they'll kill me."
"...Cersei, are you-"
"Help me finish undressing," Cersei demanded, turning her back on him. After a moment, Jaime started unlacing the back of her gown, hands as practiced at this as they were wielding a sword. When all the different layers of her outfit had been finally undone, Cersei carelessly let the expensive black gown fall to the ground. She kicked it to the side, leaving it for a servant to clean up.
"My robe," she instructed, nodding towards where it was still draped over one of her armchairs.
When Jaime passed it over, Cersei let him tie it for her. The light, silky material felt wonderful against her burned skin. Finally, she took the goblet of wine offered to her and didn't argue when Jaime led her to sit in the armchair.
"Ahhhh, much better," she sighed, setting into the cushioned seat. "Jaime, order the servants to prepare a milk bath for me. Oh, I want warmed spice wine with haddock in herb sauce, mushroom pasties, and a cream custard tart for my meal tonight. I'm in the mood for something light."
"Of course, Cersei," he said softly. Jaime knelt down next to her, taking her hand. "But... I'm worried about you! Ever since we lost Father, Joffrey, and Tommen, you—"
"We lost them?" Cersei scoffed. She pulled her hand away from Jaime's. " We didn't lose anything. You had no relationship with Joffrey and Tommen! You couldn't have cared less about them!"
Jaime looked hurt. "That's not true, I—"
"Don't you dare compare your grief to my own! You have no idea what it is like to be a childless mother!"
She wouldn't be like that for long. Cersei would get Myrcella back; even if she had to burn this city and every other city and castle in Westeros down, she wouldn't let anyone else have her daughter. More than that, she and Jaime would have more children. And they would be better this time because Robert wouldn't be around to taint them with his influence. Of course, they would have to get to work creating those babes as soon as possible, so they could be passed off as her late husband's spawn. Sex would be painful now, no matter how much Milk of the Poppy she drank, but feeling Jaime inside of her and having her womb filled with his children again would make the pain worth it. If for no other reason than it would secure Cersei's grip on the Iron Throne.
'And I'll keep them safe,' she promised herself. 'I'll get rid of all who oppose me and rule Westeros as it always should have been. I'll turn it into a paradise for Jaime, our children, and myself. No one will be able to take anything away from me ever again. Jaime will forever be by my side, and our children will stay with us. With all our enemies dead, no one will be able to oppose us.'
"No, no I would never," Jaime promised. "I can't imagine what you're going through. I'm still worried though, you've... not been well since you awoke. And, before you say anything, it's more than the burns or grief. You're more... aggressive now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were excited about the idea of war!"
"Is that such a bad thing?" Cersei asked. "Should I not thirst for vengeance after the deaths of our family and my own disfigurement?"
Jaime shook his head. "No! No, I mean... Wanting revenge is... fine! I want to hurt the people who took Father and Tommen away too, but that isn't what I meant! Cersei, I've been part of a war, I know what it's like. War is horrible beyond belief, so awful for everyone involved that I can't even put it into words. You shouldn't want to rush into it; a civil war will devastate the entirety of Westeros, especially since the odds against us aren't good!"
"And what makes you say that?"
"Experience!" Jaime said. "Experience that you don't have! Cersei, you made me Hand of the King so I could advise you. So I am begging you to listen to my advice!"
Cersei glared at her twin, searching his face for the love that should have been there. Instead, she only found worry and fear.
'He doesn't trust me,' she realized. 'Jaime thinks I'm a stupid, useless woman like every other man out there. He thinks I haven't considered lack of soldiers? Of course I have! I've always been able to get what I want, even if I've had to be creative about it. This is no different. There are plenty of mercenary groups out there who would jump at the chance to serve me. Qyburn used to be a member of the Brave Companions, perhaps he can get in contact with their leadership for me?'
"Cersei?" Jaime asked, knocking her out of her thoughts and plans to speak with dear cousin Lancel.
"...I have much to think about," Cersei said after a moment of staring into her twin's pleading eyes. "Go, I need time alone."
Jaime looked hurt at the abrupt dismissal but he nodded and rose to his feet. "Alright, I'll go order your supper, and tell the servants to prepare your bath."
When he was at the door, Cersei called out to him. "Jaime?"
"Yes?"
"No matter what happens, I will not forgive those who've failed and betrayed me. The Starks, the Tarlys, the Baratheons, Littlefinger, Varys, the Hound, Tyrion... I'll see them all burn for what they've taken from me," she said. "The people around me should be careful, less I see their bodies added to the pyre."
.
.
.
"Of course, Cersei. I understand."
And, just like that, he was gone, leaving Cersei alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts and the reflection of her scarred face in the mirror. The candlelight flickered, filling the dim room with an uneven, unnerving light. One of the maids must have added some herbs and spices into the fire, because the entire room smelled like cinnamon and clove. It was enough to nearly have Cersei drifting off in the armchair.
She closed her eyes and let her mind slip backwards in time until she was standing in a dark tent, glass jars full of strange spices, ground plants, and the body parts of animals. The air had been perfumed then as well. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a small fire burned in the corner. Cersei was there too, young and beautiful and still in love with the world.
"When will I wed the prince?" Cersei asked, finger still stinging from where Maggie had spliced it with an iron dagger.
"Never," the evil old crone replied. "You will wed the king."
At the moment, that had been good news. Cersei could marry Rhaegar without the shadow of the Mad King hanging over them. How stupid she had been.
"I will be queen, though?"
"Aye," Maggie's yellow eyes took on a sinister glean in the candlelight. "Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."