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Jaime and Cersei were laughing like commoner children at the laundry well when he went to give them the news, but as soon as he stepped in the room they fell into a sharp, shaky silence, an ivory cyvasse piece tingling and rolling on the marble floor.
There was something unpleasantly foolish and childish about the twin look of their green eyes - children caught with their hands in the jam, though looking abashed and obedient enough - but their expression changed with the proclamation. He approved of Jaime’s barely restrained, manly indignation, of Cersei’s stoic acceptance, yet, perfect as the two were acting, he felt something off, and he was displeased with himself for that weakness.
Tywin knew it was only logical to have Cersei married to the younger son, not the elder - that was the course he expected every other house to take, those who had the privilege of an heir and spare anyway. Please the king long enough to avoid retaliation, wait for someone to do him in, and keep any abomination born of incest from inheriting the pride of their house. In Tywin’s case, there were additional arguments - with any help from the Mother above, the murderous little wretch would not live long past the age for consummation, and Cersei would be free to make a proper, advantageous marriage before her prime was over. The optics of a perfect, golden maiden being dragged against her will to wed a misshapen goblin might even spur some gallant lord to rebellion sooner than Tywin could hope for.
But the flicker he saw in her face before her stone-faced If that’s what is needed, Father - no, two flickers. Twin flickers. A desperate fire in her eyes, and a sigh of hopeless yearning quickly dropped down and reshaped into tight, pressed lips. Joanna dancing in her summer silks, gracefully wilting away from Aerys’ grasping hands-
He can’t.
He clenched his fists and released them, looking pointedly away from her. “I trust you are both mature enough and ready for the contract of marriage.”
***
“Could the king make his favoritism for the Baratheons any more obvious?”
Mace Tyrell clumsily juggled the mewling infant in green and gold trims against his shoulder, making her spit up. Tywin distinctly heard the Queen of Thorns’ twine rings clang on his skull when she smacked him. “The Baratheons don’t have daughters, you oaf, what could he force them to do?”
“Still…” The oaf interrupted himself as Lyanna Stark cried bloody murder as soon as she was free of her father’s arm and ran at the septon, pulling a knife out of her stockings.
The Queen of Thorns sighed. Tywin didn’t look back, but felt faintly grateful for her presence, if not for her general existence, as he often did.
The Northern brat was grabbed by her sullen brute of a brother, they both sobbed through their vows, and the mummer’s farce went on. Mace Tyrell put the little bride in the arms of a swaying two-year-old that fell on his face as soon as the vows were over. Balon Greyjoy and a truly unnecessary trail of filthy-looking brothers pushed a sulky and clearly uninterested eight-year-old girl onto his pimply and half-drunk middle son with no reaction from anyone in the family, flaunting all the way through how this marriage would have no validity in the eyes of the Drowned God. Tywin rolled his eyes. Doran Martell had refused to come as well. Anyone who has to make such a big production of being independent is the lowest of subjects
The younger Tully girl wept so hysterically her father had to take her to the Seven’s altar by the end of her braid, her small, snotty brother just looking away and fidgeting with the laces of his doublet, and then came their turn. The best and final spectacle.
Had the king been anyone but Aerys, this might have made him feel flattered, but he had not worked this far for house Lannister to be any sort of spectacle.
Still, his children were the only ones showing any dignity in the face of adversity. He took Cersei’s arm and they both looked at Jaime, standing alone at the altar, hand outstretched and the wedding cloak he had onced wrapped around Joanna’s shoulder draped over his arm.
“He’s nervous.” Cersei whispered. He glared at her, and she went quiet, pursing her lips.
He unhanded her in front of the altar, she fixed her hair and blinked and a trail of tears, quiet as crystals, slipped down her cheeks. “May the Mother have mercy on us.”
Jaime’s hands trembled unseemingly when he wrapped the cloak around her, but he at least didn’t hesitate or mess it up like the other boys, and overall didn’t look like a feral child who had never been faced with a garment in his life, which was the most he could ask. He wound his arms around Cersei’s waist and pressed his chin on her shoulder like a clasp, sheltering her from people’s eyes as they went through their vows.
Cersei pawed softly at him to let go at first, but then gave up, embracing him too. He couldn’t begrudge them. You’ll both need someone to protect you if things go on this way.
***
There was a bedding after the feast, of sorts, as the only two brides and grooms old enough to consummate were undressed and taken to their wedding beds, but no one was in the mood to sing and yell encouragement outside their bedrooms. The Stark children presented a sheet as snowy as their sigil, arms crossed and twins scowl on their faces, but Jaime and Cersei had had the sense to stain it, though he had to tell Jaime to remove the conspicuous white bandage around his palm and just wear gloves before they went out in public.
He toasted and blabbed with the other lord paramounts for a while, ignoring Aerys’ pointed jokes on how angry he looked - he knew that was not true - and whether this might finally be enough to get him to resign for good and how like her mother Cersei looked in her deep scarlet gown.
As soon as the wine had ran out and much later than the conversation had become sterile nonsense, he managed to take his leave and go up to the Tower of the hand. He knocked on Cersei's door first, but she had likely already gone to sleep. Jaime tried to pretend so as well, but he heard the rustling of the blankets and an irritated mumble in the split second between knocking and opening the door.
The boy stared at him with an disgruntled look on his face, slumped against the headboard and his knees raised and spread out under the blanket - as they said Aegon the Unworthy had sat on his throne to draw attention to his most glorious sword, and how Tywin’s father had started to sit on his audience chair when his belly had started to drop down his waist.
“Been in bed all day, have you.” He said with the best show of disapproval on his face.
“My wedding pie disagreed with me. Can’t imagine why.” His chin was tilted up arrogantly and he started crossing his arms over his chest, but when Tywin took a step towards him he looked down for a moment and straightened up diligently, although he was still not getting up.
“Your sister’s company as well, it seems. She already left.”
“Cersei is the one I loved most in the word.” Jaime bit his lip. “Will you tell me I should have defiled her to make a crazy old man happy?”
"I'll tell you to think for once." He sat down on the bed. Jaime recoiled and stiffened, his fingers curling around the blanket. "Why do we have to do what we've been ordered by a crazy old man you could gut with your butter knife and a bit of the element of surprise?“
Jaime’s eyes narrowed as if it was just dawning on him that was a possibility. “A crown.” He spat out. “Armies.”
He shook his head. "Every Lord in the seven kingdoms are armies, and each of them would answer to their lord before their king, if it came to it. Mice have more to fear from a tomcat than a wolf. Why don't they, then?"
Jaime shone for his obstinate silence.
"Dragons."
Jaime scoffed. "There is no such thing as dragons anymore."
"We don't keep lions in our greenwood either, but we are still feared as such."
The grimace on his face turned into a pout. "We used to have one. It's not my fault you preferred to mount his head in the banquet hall."
"It was old and weak. There was less fear to be milked of it than an old toothless hound."
"Well, me and Cersei found him imposing enough."
He asked himself, as he often did, if he should have given up on teaching the boy to read and focused more on beating some sense into him when he was a child. “Most men, although you are maybe too young to know, do not forget what they know because it is briefly taken from before their eyes.” He ran his hand over his face. “The wolf, the lion and the eagle might each be the lords of their own realm, but they never presumed to be more than creatures of the Earth. The Targaryen brought dragons with them, and used them to become the stuff of legend. Haven’t you wondered why for so long they held marrying brother and sister as their special privilege, and now they want it to become the law of the land?”
“Can’t say I spend a lot of time thinking about abomination, no.” Jaime snapped.
“They had septons declare them closer to the Gods than other men were, and everyone in the realm accepted it, even when it would not have been beyond the realm of possibility to send a few skilled men with knives in the Keep while the dragons slept. But legends have a power over fools, and the illusion of power can be stronger than power in the right eyes. Still, I believe I have not raised you to be a fool.”
Jaime stared at him blankly, his hands shaking slightly. There was no scar on his palm, he noticed idly. How typical, how boyish, to cut himself somewhere hidden not to mar his golden charms and then put the bandage in everyone’s eyes to flaunt his rebellion.
“Rhaegar is a very humble youth or a very clever one, and in either case, he will not be fooled by his own illusion of power the way his father is. His wife doesn’t look like she’ll survive this pregnancy, and your sister has always dreamed of being queen. If you prove worthy of our family, there’s no reason why we should submit to their arrogance any longer.”
Jaime was lost for a few moments, but when he spoke his voice was as hard and mockingas it had when he first came in. “I do dislike submitting very much.”
He found it satisfactory enough to briefly clap his shoulder - Jaime winced at the touch
As he left the room, he thought he heard Cersei giggle behind the door.
***
“Where are your siblings, boy?”
Tyrion was starting to pathetically imitate his brother, with an act of arrogance that looked unnatural and treasonous rather than simply foolish and boyish on his twisted frame, but Tywin only had to take a step closer for him to cower and stop pretending he hadn’t heard.
“The beach.” He squeaked. “Where Jaime took me when-”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where, boy?”
The little monster explained himself, looking down at his little shoes, and scurried off like a rat when he was done. He looked like he would fit right well in the sewers, he thought. He’d have to think of what could be made of that some day.
He found Jaime and Cersei sitting on a rock, soaked in saltwater and huddled together.
“You did always want to be queen-” Jaime was saying, childish and hesitant.
“Every girl wants to be queen. “Cersei shrugged. “We could just stay where we are. Have a boy to rule Casterly Rock and one to be in the Kingsguard, a daughter to marry the king and one to marry a Farman and be fat and happy and have seven children.”
Jaime buried his face in his hands. Tywin’s stomach twisted in disgust when he heard him sob. “No, no, Cersei. I have a duty, and not only to you. We will not be resigned with an illusion of power. We are Lannister. We deserve more.”
Tywin smiled, and felt a surge of pride when Cersei approvingly kissed her brother’s cheek.
***
The Kingsguard found Aerys dead in his bedroom, throat slit and the queen sleeping peacefully by his side, a thin smile on her face. Even though the scene was dreadful and the blow had obviously taken some work, it was the first night in many in which not a scream or cry was raised from her rooms.
None of the other lord Paramounts even made a pretense of mourning, scurrying off to make new betrothals for their freed daughters and fill young Rhaegar with praise and gifts. Rhaegar wept when he was told, and so did little Viserys, but not a single time after. Princess - now Queen - Elia rose from her bed for the first time in a fortnight, and joyful Dornish hymns were heard from the sept for hours afterwards.
But when Tywin went to look for his son to give him the good news and congratulate him, he could not find him. His clothes were mostly in place, but his sword was gone, with his mother’s embroidery and the pieces of rubbish the little monster carved for him and he insisted to keep. Cersei’s room was seemingly taken apart, but a little note, scrawled on parchment, was lying over her pillow. He recognized Jaime’s still-haphazard writing.
I’ve proven my worth to my family. Now the rest is your business alone.
Tywin, for a wild moment, before every ignored little detail rushed back to his head and he fell on his knees with the horror of it, almost laughed for the first time in years. The wretched children had taken the time to stamp a golden lion sigil on the paper.