Chapter Text
Looking back, Cersei felt slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t realized sooner. She considered herself to be the hyper intelligent realistic sort, after all. If she could say anything in her defense, it was just that she had been so busy.
She was getting a double Masters degrees in Communications and Finance from the Citadel. She had the upcoming fundraiser for the Summer Islands, which she would be attending as the plus one of notorious playboy Jalabhar Xho. (A good looking man, but if she wanted to be queen of a tropical paradise she would need to marry his sister. Hard pass.) That charming Quartheen financier Xaro Xhoan Daxos had invited her on his yacht for the weekend. (Completely brilliant with numbers and completely disinterested in women. She appreciated the way his eyes lit up when they discussed Lannister Corp’s expansion opportunities in the eastern hemisphere, but she wasn’t completely resigned to a life without sex.) Belicho Staegone, who was a shoo-in to be the next triarch of Volantis, wanted to do drinks. (Good looking, smart, and a political winner. There would be something wrong with him though. There always seemed to be.) She had taken over Lannister Corp’s nonprofit arm, she worked out with a personal trainer for forty-five minutes every day, and she volunteered at the children’s cancer ward on Sundays.
So maybe she had missed her period for the first time in her life. She scheduled a meeting with her nutritionist and moved on. And now the second month, she was sitting here in this grotty pharmacy bathroom, staring at a pee stick.
Hello, she thought numbly, aware that her eyes had started to tear up. Aren’t you a little scamp?
She called her secretary at Lannister Corp to clear her schedule for the afternoon and got an appointment at the doctor.
At 3:15, a kindly maester confirmed that she was in fact pregnant. He tentatively offered some pamphlets on women in distress—did she look like she was in distress?—methods to terminate the pregnancy—no thank you, this bun (that seemed too big, a biscuit maybe) in the oven was hers, all hers—and then a very good neo-natal specialist in the area.
She found a public park, and sat against a tree.
Cersei Lannister, 23, 110 lbs, five foot five, 32C, waves of golden hair, jade green eyes, pregnant.
How on earth was she going to complete her classes? She would have to defer the program, she couldn’t risk falling behind and damaging her GPA. She was still a go for the charity gala, but drinks with the future triarch of Volantis were probably out. Cersei stifled a hysterical giggle.
She found herself watching the televisions in the electronics store front across the street. There, across a half a dozen plasma screens, a flirtatious Robert Baratheon was talking to a bimbo sports reporter about the Oldtown Maesters’ spectacularly mediocre season. They were almost certainly going to miss the cut for the playoffs, but Robert appeared blithely at ease trading banter with Little Miss Fake Tits From Channel Four. He laughed at something she said, and the hole where he was missing a tooth winked at her. That’s your daddy, she told her little biscuit.
We dated for a year in high school. Then broke up. Then dated for another year until I went to college and then broke up. On and off in college until he dropped out to play football. Some flings for old times sake since. More frequently once he got traded to Oldtown.
I know he doesn’t look like much. He has some family money. His brother runs the business though. He’s not very smart, although he has certain people skills. Actually like weirdly good people skills. Very bad temper. Drinks a lot. Basically the emotional intelligence of a child. But he can be sweet too, and funny, and when I’m with him, I feel happy. Not in some grand romance kind of way, with butterflies and fireworks. More of a quiet way. Like reading a good book in a patch of sunlight. I think someday he would really like to meet you. Cersei hugged herself and her little biscuit. But not yet. First she had a lot of planning to do.
And then her phone rang. It was her father, Cersei realized with a sinking feeling. He never called.
“Hello?” Cersei answered cautiously. She tried to sound normal. This was a coincidence after all. No reason he would know. How could he know?
“I suppose a congratulations are in order,” Tywin Lannister said acidly.
~~~~
“So the long and short of it is that I can marry Robert or he’ll cut me out of the family,” Cersei downed a glass of ginger ale. It really didn’t have the same bite as champagne. Her siblings were across the table from her looking stricken.
“Here,” Tyrion pushed his glass of wine over, having to stand on the chair to reach her. “If anyone deserves a sip it’s you. The biscuit will understand.”
“Robert has money,” Jaime frowned. “Screw father, you can live off child support payments for the rest of your life.”
“It’s not the money,” Cersei snapped. Because honestly, did he really think she wasn’t capable of earning her own living? She’d turned down a dozen consulting jobs to pursue her masters. But she had only ever wanted to work at Lannister Corp.
“Would it really be so bad?” Tyrion asked hesitantly. “Marrying Robert? I mean I kind of always assumed you would eventually—“
“How can you even suggest something like that?” Jaime snarled. “Of course it would be that bad! It’s ROBERT!”
“Do you have any other suggestions?” Cersei massaged her temples.
Jaime stared at her blankly for a second.
“We’ll run away,” he said suddenly, the light catching his golden hair like some sort of story book hero. She could almost hear the crescendo of dramatic music.
“Excuse me?!” Cersei blurted, taken aback. Had he lost his fucking mind?!
“You and me, we’ll catch a boat to Pentos. Live under assumed names. Father will never find us. We can start over with the biscuit. It never needs to know the name Lannister.”
“I like the name Lannister!”
“Sacrifices have to be made Cersei,” Jaime shushed her.
“We don’t have a boat!”
“Tyrion can get us a boat.”
“What about Brienne? Isn’t she still in Hardhome?”
“She’ll follow after once it’s safe. She’ll understand.”
Cersei caved and took a long drink of Tyrion’s wine.
“It is very sweet of you to offer to run away with me and raise this child. But I want the Lannister name, I want the Lannister money, and I want the damn Lannister corporation,” she growled. “Your saint of a girlfriend does not deserve to be abandoned in the arctic tundra with no explanation and I’m not just letting my biscuit row with us across the Narrow Sea! That could take years!”
Jaime shook his head as if he were disappointed in her. Morons. High and low, she was surrounded by morons.
“I wonder what Robert will say?” Tyrion mused.
~~~~
“Marry me,” Robert Baratheon said bluntly, flopping down at the seat across from her in the Citadel library.
He was still irritatingly good looking, with black hair, dark blue eyes, broad shoulders and a boyish smile. As of two months ago, he’d had an eight pack that she could bounce a dime off.
Cersei glared at him.
“Who told you?” She said brusquely.
“Tywin, Tyrion and Renly,” Robert ticked them off on his hand. She hated her family. And his family. And him.
Cersei abruptly stood up to go. Robert quickly snagged her backpack and held it out of reach. Cersei rolled her eyes and left anyway.
Robert caught up with her as she was walking across the quad in front of the library, hurrying to block her path.
“Marry me,” he said, dropping to one knee. He fumbled in his pocket and opened a ring box.
Cersei did a double-take.
“Is that... my mother’s ring?” She said slowly.
“Tywin gave it to me,” Robert said sheepishly.
“What exactly did he say in your conversation with him?”
“That you were preggers and he expected me to do the honorable thing. And if I didn’t, accidents happened on the football field every day. And wouldn’t it be a shame if something happened and I could never play again?”
“Right,” Cersei sighed. “Give me the ring.”
“Is that a yes?” Robert asked hopefully.
“It’s a give me my dead mother’s ring before your stupid fat fingers manage to drop it down a storm drain!” Cersei snapped, her eyes unexpectedly welling with tears again. It had to be pregnancy hormones.
“Right here, don’t cry,” Robert said frantically, giving her the ring. “Do you want your book bag back too?”
Cersei shook her head, took the ring, and kept walking, sniffling and trying to blot her tears without smudging her makeup.
Robert trotted after, still carrying her books.
“Are you mad? Don’t be mad, I’m sorry,” he was babbling. “We don’t have to get married, I don’t need a career in professional football, I’ll just um... work for Stannis I guess,” he continued uncertainly. “Do you need money? We should probably move you out of the student dorms right? Somewhere closer to classes?”
They were now walking along the bluff over the ocean and Cersei stopped with a sigh.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told Robert. “We absolutely have to get married. And I’m dropping out.”
“Oh,” Robert managed, stymied. “But you were so excited about getting your degree?”
“The baby is more important,” Cersei said, but he was right, she had been excited about her classes and her degree and all of a sudden a hiccup of a sob escaped her.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Robert immediately engulfed her in a bear hug.
“Nothing’s happening the way it’s supposed to,” Cersei mumbled, burying her head in his chest where she wouldn’t have to see his face. She was supposed to be an It Girl. Thirty and flirty and thriving. The CEO who leaned in, a cell phone in one hand and a pacifier in another. Not some graduate drop out. Robert stroked her hair gently. “I had a plan,” she sniffled.
“I know,” Robert said soothingly. “But it’s more exciting this way, right? We’re having a baby, Queenie!” He kissed the crown of her head. “You’re going to be such a kickass mom.”
“I will be the best mom,” Cersei agreed, her shuddering sobs gradually slowing. She pulled back.
“I’m sorry you have to marry me,” she said glumly.
Robert blinked.
“I’ve literally always wanted to marry you,” he said. “Didn’t you know that? Like since high school.”
Cersei gave him a tremulous smile.
“Really?”
“Really really.”
“But you said my father threatened you.”
“He totally did,” Robert shrugged. “But I would have proposed anyway.”
“You would have?” Cersei said shyly.
Robert sighed and looked around. He spotted a can of diet soda in her book bag.
“Hang on,” he said. He opened the can and snapped off the tab in his hand. He got on one knee again and held out the little silver band of aluminum.
“Cersei Joanna Lannister, you are the smartest, sexiest, funniest girl I know. You’ve dumped me like eight different times, you’re a royal pain in the ass, I literally never know what you’re talking about, and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to figure it out. Will you marry me?”
“This is the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Cersei sniffed, wiping her eyes. Freaking pregnancy hormones. Then she held her hand out so he could slip the soda tab onto her ring finger.
“So are we getting married before or after you pop the little squirt out?” Robert grinned.
“Before!” Cersei snapped. Did he want biscuit to be born a bastard?!
“Lot of planning,” Robert shrugged.
Oh gods. He was right. She couldn’t get married with a baby bump! And most first time mothers started showing at four months. That meant she had less than two months to plan the most spectacular wedding the world had ever seen. The social event of the decade! No, the century! Mace Tyrell’s wedding two years ago would be small potatoes in comparison. Ned Stark had gotten married in his backyard. His backyard! No, this was a Lannister wedding and it would be the greatest Lannister wedding of all time. They were going to do this right. And every second counted.
“You’re in charge of music,” she said.
“And booze,” Robert said immediately.
“Fine,” Cersei shrugged.
“And venue,” Robert added.
“Absolutely not. If I wanted to get married in a football stadium, I would be engaged to one of the quarterbacks that’s actually going to the playoffs,” Cersei huffed.
“We’re not out of the running yet!” Robert protested. “And I know how to throw a good party.”
“It’s not a party, it’s our wedding,” Cersei hissed.
“Eh,” Robert shrugged. Cersei glared at him and reminded herself that he was the father of her child.
“I’ll need to start contacting wedding planners, designers, florists, videographers, perhaps the chef from Crossroads Inn. Let’s budget for five hundred guests. I want a spread in Vogue of course, and an announcement in the Times. The official ceremony in the Great Sept, cocktails in the botanical gardens, dinner and reception in the courtyard of the Red Keep. An after party at some trendy new nightclub, with a few b list celebrities. Nobody who would overshadow me,” Cersei tapped her lip. She stopped when she saw that Robert was looking at her with a dopey smile.
“What?” She tossed her hair.
“You’re terrifying,” he said fondly. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Jaime was often fond of remarking that there was no other possible explanation for Robert’s freakishly charmed life. Maybe he was right.
“You are,” Cersei agreed nonchalantly.
“You love me,” Robert teased.
“Of course. But would I have married you? Different question entirely,” Cersei sighed. She had been dating royalty! Billionaires! International playboys! Robert only kissed her temple.
“I suppose Ned will be your best man?” She asked abruptly.
“Obviously,” Robert grinned.
“Stannis and Renly. Thoros?”
“Of course.”
“Anybody else?”
“Beric. Oberyn. Mace. Tyrion and Jaime?”
“You can’t have nine groomsmen!” Cersei scolded. Where on earth would she find nine female friends?!
“Fine, no Tyrion and Jaime,” Robert waved his hand.
“No Beric. No Oberyn. No Mace,” Cersei crossed her arms.
“Four?” Robert whined.
“That is plenty,” Cersei ground her teeth. She could ask Brienne. And Catelyn and Lysa she supposed. Fuck, she needed a fourth. Well, Brienne could figure that out. That was what a maid of honor was for anyway.