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There were rooms in Casterly Rock that had never seen, and would never see, the light of day. It was in one of those rooms, a bedchamber hung with old red-and-gold liveries from the time of Cersei's great-grandsire, in which Cersei waited for her father, a yawning pit in her stomach. I don't know what he saw or how much. Enough, no doubt. The question was only what her punishment would be.
Jaime, of course, would be remanded to the king for punishment, if the king ever even heard about what had happened. Only I will pay the price for this. The unfairness of it all burned in her blood like the poisons the old witch of Lannisport brewed in the darkest hours of the night.
By the time Lord Tywin's torchlit shadow loomed in the doorway, Cersei's mouth was dry as sawdust. "Father, I--"
"Don't." She tried to look up--Lions fear nothing, remember--but was frozen in place. Lord Tywin's fingers wrenched her chin upward till her eyes met his. "Nothing you say can explain what I just witnessed."
"But--"
"Be silent."
Cersei bit her tongue, her gaze not leaving his. "You should thank the gods and your own luck that it was I who found you and not the king. You remember, don't you, who he killed on the Trident?"
"Rhaegar Targaryen," whispered Cersei. The man I was supposed to marry. If King Aerys hadn't spurned an alliance with House Lannister all those years ago there would never have been a rebellion. Father would have seen to that. "You promised me that I would marry him. You promised that I would be queen."
"Queen." Any other man might have laughed, but not Lord Tywin Lannister. The Lion of Casterly Rock looked down at his only daughter as though she were filth on his shoe. "And this is how you repay me."
The new king Robert Baratheon had agreed to marry Cersei despite being in ostentatious mourning for his lost betrothed. A skinny stick of a girl with twigs in her hair and a face like a horse. And men had somehow gone mad for her. Prince Rhaegar too, she was reminded, traitorously. He'd run off with Lyanna Stark and paid for it with his life and hers. If I'd only been older I could have made him forget her. He could have made me forget Jaime.
She didn't even see Lord Tywin move before his palm connected with her cheek. "Stupid, stupid girl. Are you truly that blind? Who marries brother to sister, Cersei?"
But she knew the answer already. Robert hates them. Hates them more than anything in the world. After all, his lady had chosen a Targaryen over him. Never mind what Robert or his cronies said; Cersei remembered what she'd seen at Harrenhal when the prince crowned Lady Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. The little hussy threw herself at him plain as daylight. "Targaryens do."
Lord Tywin shook his head and, without another word, turned on his heel and left the chamber.
As though freed from a spell, she threw open the door and called after him, "What are you going to do, Father? What of my wedding?"
There was no answer, only the two Lannister guardsmen crossing their spears to trap her in the chamber, away from the light.
***
For three days she heard nothing. Not from her father, not from Jaime. For the first two days, she'd told herself over and over that Jaime would save her. Jaime would come for her. But Jaime did not come, except in the recesses of her mind.
Then, as she slept fitfully, she was awakened by a man's rough hand clamping down over her mouth. Cersei bit down on the fleshy part of his palm until she heard him cry out in pain. Another pair of hands pinioned hers behind her back as she struggled, tasting the first attacker's blood between her teeth. Something hit her in the back of the head and her eyes closed again.
When she awakened again, it was in daylight. For half a second, she thanked the gods that she was free again, out of the darkness.
Beneath her were rough wooden boards and the air smelled of seawater. I'm on a ship. Above her, she could hear the seagulls crying out to one another.
"Where am I?" croaked Cersei, shoving her tangled hair out of her face as she sat up. As her vision cleared, she saw her father standing beside the ship's rail. "Father?"
"I've made a decision," said Lord Tywin.
Cersei glanced quickly from side to side. Behind them rose the golden bulk of Casterly Rock with Lannisport at its foot. The cloudless sky was a hard, bright blue, the sun beating down on Lord Tywin's thinning hair. Already his nose was turning pink.
"I offered you a throne and you made your choice. You will marry, Cersei, but it will not be King Robert."
"Who?" she whispered.
"The king's younger brother, now the Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."
"Does he have a name?"
"Don't take that tone with me, Cersei. I would marry you to Stannis Baratheon if he were blind, deaf, and crippled to boot. Fortunately for you he is none of those things. I advise you to make the best of it."
Cersei might have argued further, but Lord Tywin turned on his heel and did not look back. Instead, she felt another man's hand beneath her arm to raise her to her feet. "Will you go belowdecks, m'lady?"
She turned so quickly that the back of her neck twinged in pain. The man standing beside her was so ordinary-looking as to be completely forgettable, but his accent was one Cersei knew all too well from her years in King's Landing. The hand beneath her arm felt distinctly strange, and she realised that half of his fingers were missing. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Ser Davos Seaworth, m'lady."
"You don't sound like a knight."
His smile caught her by surprise. "Don't suppose I ever will, though the Lord Stannis made me one by his own hand. I'm also captain of Black Betha here and if we're going to catch the morning tide, we'd best be off."
"I don't want to go belowdecks," Cersei told him, cursing the lump in her throat. She could see her father's red cloak in the small rowboat that pulled away from the ship, and further away, on the docks, she could see the people of Lannisport cheering and waving. They think this is a celebration. Forcing a smile to her face, Cersei waved back.
"May I stay?" she asked the captain--Ser Davos is his name--so quietly that she wondered if he'd heard her. "It's my home and I'm never going to see it again."
"I don't know about all that, but I'll let you stay. So long as you stay out of the way," said Ser Davos Seaworth, with his missing fingers and his accent straight from the dregs of Flea Bottom. Stannis Baratheon knighted this man with his own hands. Despite herself, Cersei began to wonder about her husband-to-be.
She stood at the ship's stern until even the tallest golden-topped towers of Casterly Rock disappeared beyond the ridge of grey cliffs lined with dark green trees. Jaime will find me. Jaime will find me and we'll both escape, far away where they can't find us.
***
Cersei scarcely remembered the wedding ceremony.
She remembered that her bridal cloak had a peculiar smell, as though brined in saltwater and bit back the sharp remark that it must have belonged to Orys Baratheon himself. Mayhap it does, and I'm meant to see that as an honour. Of her bridegroom, she recalled only his hands, cold and dry upon hers, and his lips colder still. A flash, perhaps, of blue eyes and a narrow, stern face. All that mattered was that he was not Jaime.
The feast afterward was a similar blur. Cersei couldn't recall how many glasses of wine she'd had, though she registered the disapproval in her new husband's face as she reached for the chalice once again and the spiced liquid slid down her throat.
"The bedding!"
It was the king's voice, booming like hunting horns somewhere in the distance. "Right, brother, let's unwrap your prize." King Robert lifted her as though she were little more than a doll, and the bride's cloak fell from Cersei's shoulders. Someone must have snatched it away, and she felt men's hands plucking at the laces of her gown as they carried her, laughing and singing, from the hall, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake. Cersei closed her eyes against the dizziness--though they grasped, and stroked and pinched at her skin, she hadn't the strength to push them away.
At least not until they arrived in the bedchamber and the king plunged one of his hands beneath the delicate shift of gold-edged lawn, ripping it in half. With a cry, Cersei twisted in his grip, struggling to hold the tattered cloth together. Good Queen Alysanne had convinced the first King Jaehaerys to outlaw a lord's right to a bride's maidenhead. But the Targaryens are no more. Who's to say if King Robert Baratheon will follow their laws? He had thus far--indeed, save for the banners, very little seemed to have changed since the king was named Aerys. Father is still the proud lion of the west, sniping with the king and pretending to love him while hating him as soon as his back's turned.
He thought King Robert a fool--that much was certain. But surely he wasn't that great a fool. He wouldn't rape his own brother's wife on her wedding night. Cersei tried to tell herself that even as the king laughed and pulled aside the paltry remnants of her shift. "Gods, Stannis, she's glorious. Wasted on you. I'm beginning to think I chose poorly."
The king had brought three Kingsguard with him, but Jaime was not among them. Even as the septon said his prayers and married her to Stannis Baratheon in the eyes of gods and men, she'd waited for Jaime to storm into the sept and take her away. He's already broken the greatest of his vows; what will another matter now?
But it was not Jaime who saved her.
"Enough." She didn't recognise the voice at first, but the king's hand came to a halt on Cersei's thigh. With a muttered oath, he withdrew it and stepped back. Cersei jerked away just as something heavy swept across her body, hiding her from view. It was the bridal cloak, dusty and smelly and somehow sweeter than the finest velvet. "Get out. All of you."
"Stannis, don't spoil it for everyone." The king's tone was every inch an older brother. She'd heard Jaime use that voice dozens of times on Tyrion and their younger cousins.
And, in a manner that reminded Cersei uncomfortably of the younger brother she'd rather have forgotten altogether, Stannis Baratheon pointed to the door and spat a single word. "Out."
What surprised her even more was that King Robert, after a moment's narrowed glare at his brother, gave a nod and swept from the room, calling for more wine in the Great Hall.
When the door finally slammed shut behind the last guest, Cersei lifted her head from the pillows to face her new husband. Stannis was staring at his hands, which were fiddling incessantly at his belt buckle. He'll need to be cured of that, she found herself thinking idly, and nearly laughed.
"Is something funny?" he snapped.
Cersei's laughter vanished as though it had never been. "If you find your bride being handled like a piece of meat funny, it's your right." She sat up, holding the cloak close around herself.
"I didn't ask for this. He's humiliating me." It wasn't a smile she saw on his face so much as a grimace born from years of frustration. "How very like Robert. Our gracious king."
"Of the two of us, I had less to do with that than you did," retorted Cersei.
"I had nothing to do with it. All I did was rot in this castle for the better part of a year."
For a moment, Cersei just stared at him. Then, shrugging off the cloak, she stalked to the table near the hearth where some sensible servant had left a flagon of wine and two glasses. She filled both of them and shoved one into Stannis' hand, aware as she did so that her shift was torn beyond repair and hid nothing.
Raising her glass, Cersei smiled bitterly. "To marriage."
Stannis frowned at her as she took a generous sip. She was beginning to wonder if his face had simply frozen in that expression. If Jaime were here, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off me. But Jaime wasn't here. Instead a cold-eyed stranger was studying her as though she were a tapestry not to his taste.
"You said," Cersei told him, waving the half-empty glass in his general direction, "that you didn't ask for this. Well, neither did I. Although my alternative was to marry your boorish royal brother."
"And I suppose you'd have preferred that."
"Do I look like I preferred it?" demanded Cersei. "Are you blind as well as accursedly stubborn?"
"You'd have been the queen." For a moment, he sounded unsure. "You're a Lannister. Isn't that what you want?"
"What I want," said Cersei, draining her glass and reaching for his, "is more wine."
"You've had more than enough," replied Stannis as he held the glass out of reach.
Cersei glared at him. "You'll let me be the judge of that, husband. Only one of us is meant to bleed tonight." To her satisfaction, he looked away, hectic colour rising in his cheeks. Seizing the chance, she snatched the glass from him and took a thoroughly unladylike gulp.
The room spun a little and Cersei closed her eyes to get her bearings. When she opened them again, she was seated on the bed, Stannis kneeling before her uncertainly. "Warn me," he said, "if you're planning to be sick."
Cersei shook her head. As they sat there without speaking, her dizziness slowly began to fade.
There was no silence at Storm's End--always, she could hear the wind snaking along the castle's strangely curved walls, as though the long-vanished storm gods still sought entry even after all these years. It was grand enough on the inside, she supposed, but the Baratheons had never collected treasures as the Lannisters did, filling room after room within the confines of the Rock until even the windowless interior rooms glowed bright as day.
"You may have noticed the fleet anchored on the far edge of the bay as you arrived," Stannis ventured after a few moments. "We sail for Dragonstone as soon as we have a fair wind."
At least eight of those ships had come with Cersei from Lannisport as part of her dowry, but she hadn't known why. At least that means he'll be gone, she told herself, even as she asked, "What's in Dragonstone?"
"Not what. Who. The mad king's wife and remaining son are there, and there were even rumours that the qu--" he stopped as Cersei's eyes met his, "that Lady Targaryen was with child when the mad king sent her away from King's Landing."
Cersei had wondered what had become of Prince Rhaegar's younger brother, for whose birth her father had held a magnificent tourney in Lannisport soon after Cersei's eleventh name day. He'd asked the king for the honour of marrying Cersei to Prince Rhaegar and the king had laughed in his face.
"His name is Viserys," said Cersei without thinking, the wine making her bold. "Queen Rhaella's son. He can't be more than seven years old. And the king wasn't...he stopped sharing the queen's bed, at least that was what my lord father's spies said."
She realised that Stannis was staring at her. "What's the matter?"
"How long were you in King's Landing before the war?" There was something in his voice that she hadn't heard before.
Cersei shrugged. "We celebrated my twelfth name day in the Tower of the Hand a few weeks after we arrived from Casterly Rock. Normally, we'd have travelled with the court for tourneys and the like, but the king refused to leave the Red Keep after what happened in Duskendale." Her father had been gone for the better part of a year and Cersei had thought she might die from boredom with no one but her ladies for company.
She knew why her lord father had brought her to King's Landing, but instead of defying his father and marrying Cersei as Lord Tywin had intended, Prince Rhaegar chose the plain, sharp-tongued Dornish princess who Lady Joanna Lannister had once intended for Jaime. They'd taken themselves off to Dragonstone after the wedding, leaving Lord Tywin and Cersei with the king and his dismal court of lickspittles and liars. Small wonder that when Jaime returned victorious from battling the outlaws of the Kingswood, she'd found it so easy to go to him, be damned to what anyone else thought.
"Did you know her well?" Stannis was asking, more urgently than Cersei might have expected. "The...queen?"
Queen Rhaella had been kind in her own careless way--sometimes even mistaking Cersei for her mother when she wasn't paying attention. "Not well, exactly, but I suppose I knew her. My mother was her lady-in-waiting long ago, before she married, and of course she knew my father well..." Before his men murdered her grandchildren. Before Jaime turned his sword upon her husband. Cersei shuddered at the thought. "Why are you asking me this?"
"Do you think she would speak with you? As an envoy?"
"Me?" It was Cersei's turn to stare at him. "Are you serious?"
Stannis sighed. "If you knew me at all, you would never ask that question. Yes, my lady, I am serious. To hear some talk, I am never anything but serious."
"There are worse faults," Cersei allowed. How often had she chided Jaime for his infuriating tendency to laugh at everything? It's easy to laugh at everything when the world is at your feet. Perhaps he laughed less now--she hadn't had the chance to find out. He'd swept into her bedchamber with the news that the king intended to marry her and she'd been so relieved to see him that she had forgotten the open door and thrown herself into his arms.
Neither of them had seen their father until it was too late.
Looking at Stannis now, Cersei wondered if he knew. He can't know; he'd never have married me willingly if he knew. Jaime had chosen the Kingsguard over her once; why on earth wouldn't he do so again, when offered a royal pardon despite having broken the deepest and most sacred of his vows? What do I owe him? He was her twin, her other self. But he left me when Father gave the order.
"We'll talk of it later," said Stannis, rising to his feet. Cersei allowed herself the tiniest measure of satisfaction that he deliberately avoided looking at her now. I suppose there's some blood in those veins after all.
She was a Lannister. She would do her duty and profit by it however she might.
***
The voyage to Dragonstone was both shorter and rougher than Cersei's journey from Lannisport to Storm's End. The Narrow Sea was treacherous under the best of circumstances, and the squalls of Shipbreaker Bay alone had delayed their departure for nearly a week.
They arrived as grey and purple clouds gathered and rumbled in the horizon above the Dragonmont. On her first sight of the fortress, Cersei had to fight to keep her composure, for the stone was curved into impossible shapes of dragons, all curled together in a great black mass. Below on the pier was ranged the remnant of the Targaryen fleet, their black-and-red hulls freshly painted.
Ser Davos Seaworth had sent three smaller and faster ships well ahead of them as scouts and one had brought back a fisherman who revealed that the rumours of the queen's pregnancy were indeed true.
Queen Rhaella was older than Cersei's mother would have been if she still lived. She shouldn't be having children at all. "Is there a maester?" she heard herself ask before she could think to stop.
All the men in the room looked at her. Cersei repeated the question. "Is there a maester to tend to her? Or a midwife, at least?"
Stannis was the first to recover, demanding that the fisherman answer and receiving only a series of stammered apologies. Ser Davos murmured something to him as Cersei rose from her seat to join them.
"If she dies, my lord," Ser Davos was saying, "who takes charge of the castle?"
"The gods alone know."
"But if you send her help," Cersei interjected, not pausing even when the two men turned to stare, "perhaps that might convince her to surrender."
"If she dies, her cause dies with her," said Ser Axell Florent, one of Stannis' bannermen. "Like as not she's as mad as the dead king and a brotherfucker to boot. Let them die."
"If I wanted your opinion, Ser Axell, I would have requested it," snapped Stannis. "My wife is present. Curb your tongue."
Brotherfucker. The word rang in Cersei's mind like the passing bell for the Silent Sisters and she consigned Ser Axell to the coldest of the seven hells. "Oh, no, my lord," she said, her lips curving in a poisonous smile. "Do say on, Ser Axell. I seem to recall you had much to say about my lord father's actions in King's Landing before we set sail from Storm's End."
Ser Axell glanced toward Stannis, who merely shrugged. "She's right."
"What was it you said?" Cersei asked, though they all well knew the answer. "Lord Tywin should hardly boast of his valour in slaughtering women and children. Shall we boast of your valour, then?"
Ser Axell's face had turned deep red, and Cersei could hear Ser Davos snort with suppressed laughter behind her. Only Stannis' expression had not changed. "Your wife, Ser Davos. She knows something of midwifery, doesn't she?"
"Her mother was a midwife, but Marya never..."
Marya Seaworth was perhaps slightly better born than her husband, but her father had been a carpenter living just outside King's Landing before she married a known smuggler. She was also the only woman in the company who did not suffer from seasickness, which made her Cersei's handmaid by default. "Send her, then," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Better yet, send us both."
Her eyes met Stannis' and she could see a muscle ticking in his neck, but he nodded slowly.
***
Jaime had tried to explain to Cersei once--on that strange, breathless night they'd spent together in King's Landing--what it was that made him love fighting. It being Jaime, he'd failed utterly and Cersei had taken pity on him at the time by smiling and pretending. Now, as she sat on a small skiff bearing a white flag of parley and cutting across the bay toward the great fortress of Dragonstone, she wondered if the blood singing in her veins was what he'd meant.
As they drew closer, she could make out the details of scales and wings, of teeth, eyes, and tails, that someone long ago had carved from black rock. Far less intimidating but more dangerous was the contingent of men-at-arms in familiar black and red livery waiting by the pier.
Ser Davos murmured something to his wife and kissed her fiercely before placing his shortened hand on Cersei's arm. "Gods go with you, my lady. You're doing the right thing."
"We'll see about that," Cersei said. Turning, she found herself facing a man she recognised instantly. "Ser Willem Darry." He had been master-at arms at the Red Keep, appointed when Prince Rhaegar was a boy. "I come with aid for your lady. This woman is a midwife."
"Who are you?" demanded Ser Willem. "I've seen you before."
"How fares your lady, Ser Willem? Has the child turned in the womb? Does she bleed?" Marya Seaworth stepped forward, firing questions at Ser Willem as readily as an archer. Cersei followed, silently impressed with the woman's composure as Ser Willem slowly gave way and led them to the castle, all the while telling a tale that grew grimmer in the telling.
They came to a halt outside the royal bedchamber, and Cersei could hear a woman scream within. Marya placed one hand on her arm. "You'll not be needed there. You've got other concerns." She glanced warily toward Ser Willem and Cersei nodded.
Cersei recalled that Ser Willem's cousin had been a member of King Aerys' Kingsguard, but she didn't remember what had happened to him. He must have died, for all of them died. All save Jaime and Barristan the Bold, spared after the Trident. He was eyeing her in return, suspicion in his expression as Cersei moved close to the hearth and held out her hands to warm them.
When he spoke, it was under his breath to stay out of earshot. "I know who you are, my lady of Lannister. And if it were up to me, I would wring your faithless neck."
"I have done nothing, Ser Willem," said Cersei slowly, fighting the urge to creep away from him. "I am not my father, nor do I come here in his name."
"In whose name do you come?"
"My husband's. Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm's End. He means your lady no harm. I know," she added, holding one hand to his mouth, "you won't believe me; a Lannister's word is worse than dirt. But my lady mother served Queen Rhaella faithfully for many years, and I would speak with her."
"I remember your mother," Ser Willem said after a moment. "If she'd lived..."
"If she'd lived," echoed Cersei, "a great many things would not have been."
The old man's shoulders began to shake and he sank to his knees. Cersei hid her smile of triumph and instead knelt beside him, squeezing his shoulder in what she supposed was comfort. "Shall we pray for your lady, ser?"
He nodded wordlessly and let her lead him from the antechamber. Outside, she could hear the wind howling, louder and ever louder, and the sudden crash of thunder seemed to shake the castle's very foundations.
Ser Willem's eyes met Cersei's wide and full of fear. "I think, my lady, that we will all need prayers this night."
***
The storm was the worst Cersei had ever seen, battering the walls of Dragonstone as though the storm gods of old had returned in all their fury. But the castle stood firm even as, far below on the pier, the waves and rocks battered every ship in the bay to kindling. Stannis and his fleet had dropped anchor near Stonedance on the far side of Massey's Hook, waiting for Cersei's signal, but if this storm was as massive as it seemed... I might be a widow when I was barely a wife.
In the darkest hours, as the storm raged above and below, and rumours even raged through the castle that the Dragonmont had awakened and was raining gouts of flame and ash down upon them. But Cersei had found the courage to creep to one of the sept's windows and confirm that all that was falling from the sky was water, though lightning crackled against rocks and sea alike.
Queen Rhaella was delivered just before dawn, and Marya called for her as the sun began to rise into a sky bluer than any Cersei had ever seen.
The queen was lying in a great bed of state hung with black and red curtains. She had always been a slender woman, but now she was painfully thin, her cheekbones sharp as one of Jaime's swords. Cersei's hand went to her mouth in horror at the scars crisscrossing the queen's shoulders above the heavy coverlet.
But when her eyes opened they were still beautiful--the same eyes as her dead eldest son. "Joanna? Joanna, is that you? Have I died?"
"No, my lady," said Cersei softly as she sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm Joanna's daughter. Do you remember me?"
"A daughter, yes. Cersei, the maid of summer." The queen smiled, but it better resembled a grimace. "All the singers loved you."
"They did, my lady," Cersei agreed, unable to quite keep from smiling.
"Why are you here, maid of summer? I am dying, though they say my daughter lives."
"I came to offer you terms, my lady."
"Your Grace. I am still queen of this realm."
"Your Grace," echoed Cersei. It did not harm to indulge a dying woman. Marya had moved to her side, her eyes meeting Cersei's in silent confirmation. "If you order your men to surrender this fortress, no harm will come to you or any of yours."
"Your father said the same before his men put King's Landing to the sword and murdered my good-daughter and grandchildren. Why should I believe you?"
"Because it is not her word, but Stannis Baratheon's," said Marya from behind Cersei. "My lady--Your Grace--I pray you pardon me for speaking out of turn, but I promise you that my lord Stannis is a man of honour. And I have less reason to say so than most, for he took my husband's fingers though my husband saved his life."
"Who is your husband, mistress?"
"Davos, my lady, and before the war came he was a smuggler in these parts. He knows these waters better than any man. He braved Lord Redwyne's blockade to bring food to the people starving in Storm's End, came up through the sewers to bring them onions and salt fish, enough to survive. Afterward, my lord Stannis gave him a knighthood and lands, but shortened his fingers for his crimes." All the while, her voice was steady, her eyes fixed on the queen's pale face. "He wants only justice, my lady. Your Grace."
Cersei had held her tongue throughout Marya's recitation, her eyes on the red-patterned coverlet. In the silence that followed, she realised the queen was looking at her. "They call your brother the Kingslayer now." At Cersei's nod, she smiled briefly. "It was a mercy done too late, but I thank him for it all the same. Will you tell him that from me?"
"I will, Your Grace," said Cersei without hesitation, suddenly horribly aware of how the queen had likely come by those many, many scars. She'd heard the stories of the burnings and the torture, the hundreds of supposed traitors handed over to Lord Rossart and the Alchemists' Guild for their pleasure.
"Let me speak to Stannis Baratheon myself," said the queen after studying Cersei for a few more moments. "If his oaths satisfy me, you will have my surrender."
***
Queen Rhaella died the following evening. She had, however, managed to extract a solemn oath from Stannis to stand surety with his own life for both of her children, young Viserys and the newborn baby Daenerys. Though the little prince's first words to Stannis had been to damn him for being the brother of a murderous usurper, his mother had reprimanded him and ordered him to obey. "Care for your sister and protect her," she'd whispered, pressing her lips to Viserys' pale, silken hair.
Her eyes met Stannis' over her son's head. "Protect them both, Lord Stannis."
"My life as the forfeit," said Cersei's husband without missing a beat.
Instead of returning to Storm's End, they took up residence in Dragonstone, Stannis' soldiers taking command of the former Targaryen fortress as the few remaining loyalists quietly surrendered after the death of their lady. Cersei spent most of her days moving from room to room, cataloguing what she found and making plans for improvements. If I had married Rhaegar Targaryen, this would have been mine. And yet somehow it was hers all the same, though Rhaegar Targaryen was no more.
She wrote to Jaime to tell him the queen's message, but heard nothing in response.
The babe within her grew, and Cersei found that his silence mattered less.
***
Cersei and Stannis had celebrated their daughter's third name-day and King Robert had not yet married, though he'd fathered another three baseborn children, one behind the dais in the great hall at Storm's End on the very night of Cersei's wedding. On hearing of it, Stannis rolled his eyes. "I ought to be thankful it wasn't in our wedding bed," he told Cersei later.
"If he had, I'd have gelded him myself."
"I doubt that."
She still had to remind herself that her husband took everything literally.
Little Joanna had all the Baratheon colouring, save a pair of startling eyes green as her mother's. To Cersei's shock, Stannis doted on the girl, to the point of forcing all of his bannermen to swear fealty to Joanna as his heir and as heiress presumptive to the Iron Throne. If Lord Viserys Targaryen, as he was now known, resented this, he said nothing. Nor had King Robert made any further objections, despite his fury on learning that his younger brother had not only failed to destroy the Targaryen line, and instead taken in its last two members as sworn hostages.
If you care for dragonspawn so much, take yourself to Dragonstone and be damned to you. He'd settled Storm's End and its valuable lands on four-year-old Renly, who scarcely understood what lords were. As for Lord Tywin, the silence from Casterly Rock had yet to be broken.
"Is something wrong?" Stannis asked, softly enough that Joanna barely stirred against Cersei.
"Not wrong," Cersei said. "I..." She swallowed. "My father would never have done what you just did."
"She is my eldest and my heir."
How simple he made it sound. Cersei was the eldest, but she'd lacked the most important thing to Lord Tywin Lannister. For the cleverest man in the Seven Kingdoms, my father was still blind in his own way.
"Joanna will rule Dragonstone when I am dead." Cersei glanced at him, certain he was about to say more. Instead, Stannis leant against the battlement nearest her and looked down into his daughter's face. She was a beautiful child; everyone agreed, even excepting Cersei's own bias. "You know my brother the king has yet to marry."
"Does he still insist upon mourning Lyanna Stark?"
"An interesting form of mourning, if you want to call it that. You can't be blind to what it means."
Cersei's eyes snapped to her husband. "You don't mean--"
"The Targaryens fought the Dance of the Dragons over just such a case."
Lord Tywin had always insisted that the Dance of the Dragons was nothing more than foolishness and Targaryen arrogance run amok, and that King Viserys ought to have bridled his daughter Rhaenyra until she submitted to his son. But Lord Tywin would never have even considered giving Casterly Rock to his daughter, no matter that she was the eldest.
"Would you fight for her?" asked Cersei softly. At Stannis' nod, she looked down at their daughter's face.
"To my last breath."
And Cersei believed him.