Work Text:
Its rider was given the power to take peace from the earth.
Revelation 6:4
I
1918
“Look!” a young girl, quite boyishly pointing out the window and clearly forgetting about manners, immediately jumped up from her seat on the sofa and ran to the door. Somewhere along the way, she apparently came to her senses and slowed down, straightening her light dress and golden hair. Her gait still remained twitching, as if she was in a hurry, but some invisible force did not allow her to go faster.
A ghostly smile played on her lips on this fine summer day. The smile she rarely showed to anyone before and after the war began, and it seemed she completely forgot how to smile at all. Today her face shone with the mysterious joy of a gem that makes light play in its facets, which was surprising for servants and her younger brother. However, everyone knew she had a reason to be smiling — Jaime, her twin brother, returned from the war.
The other brother, not so agile, but no less joyful, joined her in her anticipation very soon. They looked like children in line for candies — impatient and shifting from foot to foot. No one would have thought that the two of them were capable of coming to unity, even themselves, but the day, apparently, was really special.
Cersei, that was the name of hers, even froze for a moment when she saw the doorknob turn, but when it opened, joy diminished from her face — the door was opened by her father, gloomy and pale. He carried a simple soldier's suitcase in the hand.
The girl glanced sideways at her younger brother, and then looked at her father once again. He looked too displeased for a man whose son had returned from the Western Front, he even looked lost. Cersei was standing on tiptoes, trying to see at least something behind her father.
Finally, their eyes met — lively, curious, cheerful and different, empty and dull. The brother was looking at her just like a stranger. Cersei was still smiling, but tightly, as if she had lost all her joy on the way to the door. She frowned, silently examining Jaime.
Thin and stooped, he did not look like those brave guys from the propaganda leaflets that were handed out in packs on the streets. The soldiers on these leaflets looked into the distance animatedly, demonstrating all their courage, which could not be said about Jaime. He quickly looked away from his sister, as if embarrassed, and tightened his left hand on the second suitcase, smaller than the one carried by their father.
His right hand Jaime was hiding behind the back.
Cersei smiled contentedly, trying to look at what he was hiding behind his back. Having arched an eyebrow, the girl looked into her brother's face again. A couple of scars, a vertical line between his eyebrows. It was no longer the face of the boy she had missed for many nights.
“Hi,” Jaime muttered shamefacedly, still standing at a distance, indecisive.
“Hi,” the girl answered, frozen in anticipation. She was no longer smiling, only trying to catch the eyes of her twin, as if looking for answers to questions that she did not want to ask out loud.
Finally, she could not hold back, and, almost growling, rushed to him, and hugged him with all her might. Jaime was standing, as if he had forgotten that Cersei also needed a hug back. The sister pulled away and, taking Jaime's face in her hands, made him look into her eyes. Her brother looked at her as if he was apologizing for something.
Cersei turned around and was about to take his right hand and lead him into the house, but somehow made a mistake. She looked back and instantly turned pale.
There, where his palm used to be, dangled the empty sleeve.
II
Soon after his return, Jaime announced to his father that he was no longer planning to continue his studies at the university. Cersei overheard this conversation, standing near the door to the study and pressing her ear to it. Her loose hair, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, gave her predator-looking face a certain childishness, from which girls of her age always tried to get rid of. In all this kaleidoscope of pretty doll faces, Cersei was favorably distinguished by the fact that no one was fooled by her external cuteness — as soon as the girl used to say a few words, she was not considered a gentle creature anymore.
Voices were heard behind the door — Tywin Lannister's, calm and cold, and a slightly higher, harsher one. They had been arguing for a good half an hour, so Cersei, at first flinching from every rustle, even relaxed a little.
Not that the girl liked to eavesdrop on other people's conversations — she rather liked to learn secrets from someone else and not risk anything, but the measures were extreme, because she gave up in despair to learn anything from her brother. Sullen and silent, he wandered round the house like a ghost of himself, causing growing bewilderment among his relatives.
“That is a champagne problem,” Jaime muttered in response to Tywin Lannister’s very compelling argument that it was worth graduating.
“It is your duty as my son!” the father blurted out almost desperately.
“There they kept telling me about my duties too — look what happened to me,” Jaime spoke quietly, barely heard.
“The first serious difficulty and you give up? I thought you became a man grown.”
“I did,” Jaime said through clenched teeth. “But I can't play polo anymore. How am I supposed to play for the university team now?”
The girl abruptly jumped away from the door, having heard her brother's quick footsteps. She headed toward the stairs, trying to portray complete disinterest as she could possibly do, when Jaime called her.
“What?” she threw over her shoulder, frozen in place.
Her brother did not answer, turned around and walked away in the opposite direction. Cersei ran her fingers across her cheek. She did not even know where the tears came from.
III
In the darkness of an autumn evening, their house shone in all its splendor. It was visible from afar — as soon as you turned onto the street where they lived, its burning windows, the noise of conversations and music immediately attracted attention. In post-war New York, few dared to enjoy life so frankly, but the Lannisters have always been a bit of a special family.
Cersei fiddled with the strap of the small gold watch on her arm, looking bored. Her short hair was held back by a black headband with a sticking feather, and a black dress with an open back attracted not only men of her age, but also those who were much older. She was beautiful, even gorgeous, but twice more sad.
Young officers, waiters, ladies in smart dresses and men in tuxedos scurried around, but Cersei did not seem to notice any of them. Occasionally she responded to polite compliments or described how she was doing in one or two phrases, but she showed interest in none of these conversations.
For the first time in the evening, only a slightly inebriated soldier who claimed to have served with Jaime could catch her attention. He was in the company of girls, and his stories made them sigh in surprise. She walked over to the champagne table and strained ears, trying to be invisible.
“You’ve probably noticed that I limp?” He asked expertly. “Got under a hell buggy, can you imagine?” another “ah!” escaped from one of his listeners.
“How did you manage to save yourself, Mr. Wickham?” another girl, less impressionable and more stubborn, smiled at him with her most charming smile.
“Ah,” he waved his hand, “I'm afraid this story is not for your lovely ears.”
“Why so?” A familiar voice made her turn sharply. Jaime's head was obscuring one of the many lamps, and the halo above it made him a god who descended to earth. Unlike many young men, he preferred a tuxedo to a military uniform. “ I think the story of yours will be the most interesting thing for the ladies to listen to.”
“Jaime,” Wickham drawled, still trying to keep a smile. “Long time no see.”
“Indeed,” he nodded, smiling predatory. “Since you deserted.”
“I did not!..”
“You di-i-id,” Jaime nodded happily, openly mocking his acquaintance. “Shot himself in the leg and ran away like a coward,” he growled, and turned away from Wickham. “Don't waste your time,” he said at last to the girls.
Cersei quietly returned to her secluded spot by the stairs. When her brother came up behind her, she only narrowed her eyes a little and shivered as if from the cold.
“I wish daddy made it a masquerade,” the girl said to her brother, barely turning her head to the side. “Wouldn't have to smile all the time.”
“Champagne problems,” Jaime told her. “This is a masquerade.”
He grinned mirthlessly, straightening the bowtie with his left hand. As if out of habit, he kept his right one behind his back.
“Show me,” Cersei said tenaciously, her eyes immediately returning to observing the guests. Jaime grimaced and pulled his hand from behind his back, making the polished wood gleam in the light of the lamps.
“Father wanted to make it gold,” the young man, imitating his sister, watched the noisy crowd with his eyes, completely not paying attention to Cersei, frowning at the wooden hand, “but I didn’t allow it.”
“Afraid of stealing?” Jaime gave his sister a disdainful look.
“Sometimes it seems to me that I have returned to another person.”
“You have no idea,” she squeezed wooden fingers in her tiny palms, “how much I understand you. Come on.”
The violinist from the string quartet immediately noticed them - beautiful and sad, they went to the center of the room, as if showing their condescension to everyone. Like a king and a queen, they seemed to be about to open the ball, although the evening had been going on for a long time and the guests even began to get tired. The violinist smiled.
“Dvorak,” he nodded to his partners, and they immediately understood him, joining in the flying melody of a serenade.
In the crowd, Cersei cheered a little, dancing lightly with a ghostly smile on her lips. There was no trace of her morning fright.
“I want you to be my wife,” brother growled in Cersei’s ear, pushing jerkily into her this morning while everyone was still asleep.
“This is madness!” the girl exclaimed in a whisper.
Jaime did not answer, which could be considered a sign of agreement. Now she seemed to have forgotten about this conversation, carelessly circling to the sound of a waltz.
“What have I got in my pocket?” Jaime suddenly asked, although he had not uttered a word during the dance. Cersei snuggled closer to him in one of the turns, imperceptibly dropping her hand into his jacket pocket. Having fumbled for something in it, she immediately looked furiously in his eyes.
“That's not funny,” she blurted venomously, pushing his hand and walking away.
“I'm not joking,” her brother answered, knowing fully well that she had already left and would not hear anything.
IV
A long black trench coat made her already pale face completely bloodless, and the cold gaze of green eyes was putting off coming into contact with this mystical pulchritude. Cersei stroked back a strand of slightly grown hair from her face and wrapped over her coat — the evening promised to be cool.
When a couple came out of the bakery — a man in a double-breasted jacket and a girl in a weightless dress — Cersei grimaced as if she could smell an unpleasant odour. What was happening clearly did not give her any pleasure, but she still took her time to leave. The girl caught a man in a light pink three-piece suit getting into a taxi before a forced smile played on her face when a tall brunette came out of the same bakery with a paper bag in her hands.
“It took you long,” Cersei narrowed her eyes, immediately reaching out to the bag. “Did everything go well?”
“Was chattering with my friend Nick.” She made a vague hand gesture. “Nothing of much importance.” The brunette finally gave the bag to Cersei with a sly smile. “Say hello to your brother.”
“Which one? I have two, if you recall.”
“As if you don’t know what I mean,” she laughed, and this laugh echoed in Cersei's ears for a long time when she was already in a taxi, coming home.
In the back seat of the car, she looked around and carefully opened the bag, as if trying to prevent the driver from hearing the rustling. She dipped her hand into the bag, slightly shyly, half pulled out a pot-bellied bottle with a sticker in the form of a shield, and immediately hid it back.
It was Jaime who asked her to buy champagne that morning.
“Today is a special day,” he said in a businesslike manner, once again tweaking his already perfect hairdo.
“I have a meeting at lunchtime,”his sister replied indifferently.
“No big deal,” a smile, like a knife, cut the young man's face.
“Who knows?” Cersei flashed her eyes as she rose from the table.
Nevertheless, she did buy the champagne.
As Cersei strode toward the dining room, her long coat fluttering behind her, an old black man, Tom, who was cutting bushes in their garden, came out to meet her.
“No, no, Miss Cersei,” he lamented, “don't go there. Your father will kill him.”
“Whom?” she narrowed her eyes and smiled bitterly with the corners of her lips.
“Mister Jaime!”
Cersei's face changed immediately — not a trace of her calm, even a little lazy acrimony left. She unceremoniously pushed Tom aside, which made him cry even more. However, he had worked for the Lannisters for several years, and he knew the character of her very well.
Tywin Lannister's voice could be heard very clearly even through the closed door.
“Your sister will be back soon,” he said firmly, and Cersei froze in indecision, “and I’ll talk to her about it. It's in your best interest that I like her answer.”
“Cersei loves me,” Jaime muttered through clenched teeth, and his sister saw his handsome face with narrowed eyes even with the doors closed. “She’ll tell you quite the same.”
“Pray,” Tywin paused, “that she's clever enough not to.”
She flung open the door to the dining room, making the curtains on the windows jiggle convulsively from a sudden draft. Her hair was also disheveled, and her face, which was illuminated with red rays of the setting sun, took on a completely devilish look.
Closing the door behind her with a strong push, she walked to one of the heavy wooden chairs, put the champagne in a bag on the table with a dull jingle and, with the grace of a lioness, sat down opposite her brother, her coat still on.
Tyrion stretched his lips in a wide smile, folded his fingers into the lock and, shifting slightly in the chair, sat down more comfortably. Tywin Lannister's gaze was as cold and prickly as ever. He looked at her, silently and expectantly, as if he knew that soon she would speak to him herself. Jaime's eyes were insane.
“I told them everything!” brother blurted out desperately. He looked at her pleadingly, as if clinging to these words like to a straw. His heart was glass, and he handed it to her.
Two pairs of green eyes met each other.
“What are you talking about?” Cersei asked with genuine surprise, and turned her gaze to Tyrion and their father.
“About you and me!” brother was not calming down, peering into the straight face of his sister. “That I want to marry you, and..”
“Jaime!” She gasped, covering her mouth with a tiny hand. “What are you saying?”
“The truth,” and now his voice sounded angry.
“You’re back,” Cersei sobbed, “and I don’t recognize you at all…”
Jaime's heart shattered on the floor.
“You are lying!” He blurted angrily, immediately changing the face. “Don’t be afraid, we’ll be just fine. You love me, don’t you? I can’t keep it in.”
“You accuse me of lying?!” shyness and surprise disappeared from her face, leaving only a place for rage. “I wish you had died,” Cersei hissed softly, “because it wasn't my brother who came back from the war.”
“Enough!” Tywin Lannister slammed his hand on the table, and Tyrion's eyes lit up. He even smiled as he watched the family quarrel. The father looked at Jaime. “You will forget everything that you just told me, and don’t you dare to hint about it at least once. Cersei, ” he turned to the girl, who was stubbornly examining the paper bag. “Robert called me, and I accepted his proposal.”
For a second, her eyes flew open, and it seemed that now she would protest, but the girl looked down and pulled the heavy bottle out of the bag.
“I bought champagne,” she said hoarsely. “Why is no one celebrating?”
V
The three of the Lannister family were driving to the train station: Tywin Lannister was driving, Jaime was in the passenger seat next to him, and Cersei was in the back. She pressed her forehead against the glass and, in spite of the fact that the car was shaking at the sweeps, looked blankly out the window. On the way, she and her brother were silent — Jaime stopped talking to her after that evening in the dining room, and stubbornly continued to do this until his departure.
Tywin reacted calmly to his son's announcement that he was leaving for Chicago — he only asked to answer letters and not to dishonor their name with dubious actions. Jaime only shook his head in response and left without an answer.
Tyrion was almost late to say goodbye to his brother — he was busy somewhere in the down-town and arrived by taxi on short notice.
“You were my only friend,” he told Jaime, making Cersei curl her lips.
The young man took out a small suitcase from the trunk, which contained all the necessary things, nodded to his father, smiled at his brother and headed for the train. After taking a few steps, he turned around, in the end addressing Cersei.
“Goodbye,” he told her. “We may not see each other again.”
“Is this champagne problem worth your attention?” Cersei raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
He smiled and looked down.
“You would have made such a lovely bride. What a shame you’re fucked in a head.”
VI
Nowadays.
This autumn was very chill, so the girl, although she was dressed in a long plaid coat, seemingly able to protect her from any cold, quickly sat in a Chevy. Her companion politely closed the door behind her, and he went to another.
“Well, going home?” he asked the girl.
“Yeah,” she smiled warmly, still staring at the building she had just left. “Do you know it used to be a madhouse?”
“What?” He was obviously surprised.
“You don’t!” She exclaimed with childish delight, and then frowned a little. “Not that it was a funny story.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Remember when I told you about Jaime Lannister?”
“Was it the guy who wrote that book about himself and his sister?” He raised the eyebrows on the bridge of his nose.
“Yes!” She almost clapped her hands. “Well, it was later that everyone found out that the book was about his sister. At first they thought it was about a knight who returned from the war, and his devotion to his Queen…”
““The White Book”, I remember now.” He nodded.
“… But after Cersei's death, when an inheritance scandal arose around the Lannisters, a journalist interviewed their common brother. Well, the one who is not Jaime,” she said with a laugh. “It was him who told what kind of relationship they had had, and everyone suddenly rushed to read it.”
“Not the kind of fame one wants to have.”
“By that time their father, Jaime and Cersei had already died, so no one cared,” the girl threw out her hands.
“And what’s the thing with this asylum?”
She smiled ruefully.
“After Jaime told his father the truth, Cersei was very successfully married off. Well, her family thought so. After the wedding, she did not get out of those mental wards, and when Robert died, she began to live here,” she pointed to a gloomy black brick house. “Once there was a fire and…”
“An unenviable fate,” he sighed.
“Shortly before that, she gave an envelope to Tyrion, which she asked not to open until her death.”
“And what was there?”
“A letter to Jaime,” the girl smiled, although her eyes were filled with tears. “She wrote something like…
Sometimes you just don’t know the answer till someone’s on their knees and asks you. But you'll find the real thing instead, she'll patch up your tapestry that I shred. And hold your hand while dancing, never leave you standing, crestfallen on the landing with champagne problems. Our mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet. You won't remember all my champagne problems.”
“And what? Was there “the real thing”?”
“No.”
“Apparently,” he took her icy palm in his hands and kissed her knuckles, “this problem was worth attention.”