Chapter Text
“What news of the battle, my lord Varys?” Cersei Lannister asked the plump eunuch. He had called this emergency council as soon as the rider had arrived in the city from her father’s camp on the eastern bank of the Green Fork of the Trident. Cersei was quite wroth with the bald Master of Secrets as she could not understand why news of her father’s victory was such an urgent matter that a council must be summoned.
She had had a very busy morning watching over the simpering fools and lesser ladies that made up her women’s court, before taking the long and arduous journey in her litter through the odious city across to the Great Sept of Baelor atop Visenya’s Hill. So many ladies aspire to be like the younger sister of Aegon the Conqueror, though it was the elder queen who Cersei had once looked up to. What a fool I was to aim so low, she admonished herself, For I will be Aegon come again. The light of the west, the lion made flesh. My dynasty shall dwarf the dragon kings.
The sun had passed its zenith, but the temperature continued to climb yet higher, and Cersei wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed with a skin of chilled wine or two. Mayhaps Lancel would join me, as Jaime is away. Alas, the moon-headed eunuch had dragged her to the sweltering chamber of the small council for seemingly no reason at all.
May the seven damn the man to the darkest hell for presuming to order his queen. She had come at his summons non the less.
The chamber was far emptier than she would have liked. Stannis was still hiding on his rock in the sea, Renly had fled with his brother’s death, Lord Stark was rotting in the black cells for his treason against Joff, and Jaime, her own sweet Jaime; he was out in the field with her father, riding to protect their son. He is a fierce Lion to guard his cub from the prowling pack of wolves.
Only the Master of Coin and Master of Whispers joined her now. Grandmaester Pycell had been kept in his tower by his ravens and his frailties.
Varys gave a quiet cough, and she wondered if he was gagging on the perfume that he had lathered on his skin. “The Northmen proved wiser than the Hand expected. Lord Tywin Lannister has bloodied the wolves at the Green Fork but was forced to fall back to Harrenhal. From there he will guard the city’s western flank.”
“What do you mean fallen back? My father would do no such thing! And why would our western flank be under threat of attack, Stark marches from the North, does he not?”
This missive made no sense. Her father was the greatest general alive, and no vicious heathens could rival trained soldiers fresh from the Westerlands. This was a trap; yes, some lie spread by the savage Northmen to sow panic amongst her men. They are scared. We have them beaten and they know it. It was a desperate move that Robb Stark had pulled, one that showed how weak he truly was. He cannot surely have expected us to fall for it.”
“The rider reports that the Northern army stole the march on them. Ambushed your father’s army under the cover of night.” Petyr Baelish said. His voice was slimy. If a slug could speak it would sound like Littlefinger. “They say that a monstrous pack of demon wolves slew the outriders, and by the time the lookouts realised there was something amiss, the savages were already in amongst the camp. It was a rout, your grace. Lords Ambrose and Lefford were slain or captured, along with Hayford’s regent, Farman’s heir and a dozen other minor lords and lordlings. Your brother the imp is rumoured slain in the retreat.” The ghost of a smile flashed across his face. “I am sorry for your loss”
“Lies” She hissed. This could not be true. But the faces of her council were stern serious. This was no jape. “At least tell me that Robb Stark was injured in the chaos?”
“Robb Stark was not even present for the battle.” Answered Littlefinger. “His Bastard Brother lead the force.”
She sneered. “The Wolf is too craven to fight his own battles, it seems. What do his men think of that, lord Varys?” Lord Stark’s heir was no more than a green boy playing at war. A coward hiding behind some baseborn whelp of a whore.
“They admire him for his cunning. Jon Snow led the infantry host of fewer than twenty thousand men. It seems that the mounted force went with the trueborn son.” Varys answered, failing to meet her gaze.
Cersei’s eyes burnt green with an emerald fury. A cold breeze gripped the chamber. “Where did he go?” Her voice was low with barely controlled anger.
“We must presume he crossed the Green Fork at the Twins and is marching to relieve Riverrun from Ser Jaime’s host.”
With an anguished cry she flung her goblet at the wall. The wine spilt out into a crimson bloodstain that pooled on the floor.
“If the siege is broken then we are lost.” Littlefinger said softly. The words brought a cool breeze through the room.
If her brother’s army was to be shattered nothing could stop Robb Stark from pinning her father in Harrenhal as Jon Snow marched his force on King’s Landing. They could not sack the city, they did not have the men. But they did not need to. With the wolves sat across the Gold Road and Stannis blocking Blackwater bay they were trapped. Unless…
Yes, a plan was beginning to form.
“How long until Ser Stafford Lannister’s host will be marshalled from the west?” It was a long shot, but it was her only hope.
“Three moons, mayhaps four is the weather is poor.”
That was good. Harrenhal would likely still stand by the time her uncle arrived.
“What do you know of this Jon Snow? Can he be turned?”
“It may be possible.” Answered Baelish. “I know that Lady Catelyn antagonised him. She discouraged her children from spending time with the boy. He might feel excluded from his family. That resentment and jealousy could be something to prey upon. He will want Winterfell at any rate. We can offer him that.”
“I do not believe that will work, Lord Baelish.” Varys countered. He was shaking his head softly. “I must confess I have not watched the boy closely; I did not think him important. But Lord Stark took care to make him a part of his family. Lady Stark may have tried to discourage her children from befriending the boy, but I do not believe she was successful.”
“You do not know for certain, do you though?” Baelish was smirking, his eyes dancing with amusement like this was nought but a game. It made Cersei want to have him killed, though she knew he was of far more use alive. “There is one person here who knows the boy well though. Summon Sansa Stark and we can ask her about her bastard half-brother.”
When they brought her in it was clear that the wolf bitch had been crying again. Her eyes were as red as her hair, and her face enflamed by ugly pink splotches. Younger mayhaps, but she will never be more beautiful than me.
Cersei spat out a bitter laugh at the thought that Sansa would be the one to cast her down and destroy all that she held dear. The insipid child could barely even meet her eyes when she was brought in by the guards.
These northerners are pathetic.
“What can you tell us about Jon Snow, my child?” Varys asked in his voice so sweet it made Cersei want to gag. He was crouching down in front of the girl, his face stiff with a mask of fake concern.
Sansa glanced quickly around the room. Her gaze met Cersei’s for mere moments before she looked back down towards her feet. She began to murmur something to the floor, but Baelish interrupted the girl.
“I fear that the baseborn bastard has tricked your brother into turning traitor, my sweetling. He hopes that the crown will back him in usurping his trueborn siblings, after the Northmen have been defeated.”
Sansa Stark looked at him with wide eyes. “Jon would never… He loves Robb like a brother. He would never betray him.” She was shaking her head in confusion.
“I am sorry, little dove. It is true.” Cersei lied. “We received a number of missives from him detailing battle plans and marching orders, as well as asking for legitimisation and the North once the war is won. It must come as a shock to you to hear that someone you grew up so close to could forsake you like this. I am here for you, tell me anything you want, I’ll listen.” Cersei gave a smile as sweet as honey dripping from a comb as the girl nodded before her.
“Will this affect my father’s treatment?” Sansa asked softly. “The guards say he is still in the Black Cells, can I see him?” Her eyes were deep blue wells, and her voice had begun to pick up in tone and pitch and volume. “It has been so terribly long since I last saw him. He must have realised his mistake by now. He is a good man, everybody says so, and he wouldn’t betray his friend the late King Robert. Why doesn’t Joff just pardon him?”
Lord Eddard Stark was a topic that the very small council was split on. Baelish wanted the trial to happen straight away. He felt that if Stark was banished to the Wall with a confession then Robb Stark would lose all justification for war. The North would not die for a guilty man he argued. Varys had initially agreed with him, but something had changed recently. He no longer felt that anything short of total exoneration would stop the Northmen’s march southwards. Pycell counselled her to ask her father what to do. I am every bit as competent as Lord Tywin Lannister. For now Stark sat rotting in the cell, awaiting his fate.
“I can have him removed to more comfortable chambers, little dove, but until he confesses to his treason I cannot let him free, nor may he see you.”
Sansa seemed unhappy with the answer but did not protest further. She allowed herself to be led out by the guards.
“Turning the boy will not work.” Cersei said, a bitterness tinged her voice. That option would have been easier than trying to raise a host from the Crownlands. It put them in a very perilous position. To their south, Renly marched up the Rose Road at the head of the hundred houses of the Reach. In the east sat Stannis, brooding in his dark island citadel. Jon Snow and his force of northmen were thundering down on them unopposed on the Kingsroad. And the west was under threat from Robb Stark. If my golden Jaime falls, we are cut off.
The only fighting men left to guard the city were the City Watch. “Lord Baelish, how many men can the Gold Cloaks muster?” Cersei asked.
He paused for a moment before answering. “Fewer than three hundred spears, your grace. Lower every week. The smallfolk didn’t take kindly to Lord Commander Slynt’s handling of the late king’s bastards.”
“I want it expanded. Five hundred by full moon, a thousand before it wanes. I don’t care where the coin comes from, just make it happen.”
“Of course, your grace.” His voice held the same smarmy tone that made Cersei want his tongue pulled out. He should show more respect to his betters. I am a Lannister and the Queen, not one of his whores.
The door creaked open behind her and Grand Maester Pycell waddled in. The expression that sat on his sagging face was as grey as his robes. “A raven, your grace. From Riverrun.” He held out a scarp of parchment, the ink smudged by rain.
“What news does my Jaime have for me?”
“The missive… it was penned by Ser Forley Prester, your grace. He led… the retreat… after Lord Commander Jaime Lannister was captured.” Pycell was lying, he must be.
“Captured?” He would never let himself be captured; he would never abandon her. He was her twin, her mirror, her reflection. It made no sense. She wanted to scream, to shout. To let the world see her anger and pain.
She could not.
She would hide the pain.
The carrion crows always descended after a battle, her Jaime had told her once. They targeted the weak. The dead, the dying. Cersei would not let these crows sense an opening.
She couldn’t.
No.
She would be strong. For Joffrey.
“Lord Varys, I want the city gates barred and reinforced. Nobody is to enter unless they have good reason, nobody highborn is allowed to leave at all. Grandmaester Pycell, arrange a meeting with the High Septon for the morrow. Lord Baelish, Have Lord Commander Slynt expand the City Watch, then ensure that every smith in the city is working on its defences. Spear points, arrow heads, chainmail armour. I want it all made and assigned to fighting men.”
She dismissed the men and swept from the council chamber in a swirl of crimson cloth that danced like fire in the sunlight. She summoned a small squadron of Lannister guardsmen to accompany her litter into the city.
The Hall of the Alchemists Guild had once been a grand and prestigious building but, as the order fell in prominence and the influence of the Wisdoms of the guild gave way to the Maesters of the Citadel, the vast stone complex had begun to crumble into dust.
If they save my son then I will give them a palace of glittering gold and gleaming gemstones.
Jaime had spoken of them hesitantly. He was reluctant to tell of their role under Mad King Aerys. Cersei knew that they had once held power though, and some of that power yet lingered. She had long wondered at the secrets hidden behind the dull brown façade. Now, she would learn.
Wisdom Hallyne welcomed her to the dark halls and down into the labyrinth that was the basement. He was a pale man with sunken eyes, wrinkled fingers, and a face that could have been a decade older or a decade younger than her depending on the lighting. It was cold in the catacombs beneath the building. There was a dreich dankness to the air, and only the steady drip, drip, drip of water running down the walls kept the time.
When he spoke, his voice was horse from underuse. “It is an honour to host such a gracious queen. It is too long since we last had such royal patronage. I was but a humble acolyte when last a monarch paid us heed. Too few from those days are yet with us, too few indeed…” He shook his head. “Forgive an old man his havering, your grace, our ranks were hit hard during the Sack. I fear we may be unable to meet your request. It is a slow process, to create the Substance. And there are not many left who know of the process. We have old stock, yes. But that is unstable, unsafe. More like to burn yourself than your foes. Still, we will do what we can, we have no wish for a repeat of the last Sack the city endured.”
Cersei bristled at the tone the man was taking to her with, but accepted his words regardless.
The air was hot as she left the alchemists guild, the sun sat low in the sky and a warm breeze brushed her face from the south. There was much that she had to think on, and far, far more that she had left to do.
I will do it though. For Joffrey I will do it.
Cersei slept fitfully that night. Her dreams haunted by Jaime and Robert and Eddard Stark. They watched her with anger, with pity. And in the end, they all forsook her.
She would grieve Jaime’s failure later, now was not the time.
She woke with the singing of the birds and the rising of the sun. The reflection off Blackwater bay blinded her as she looked out across the city. When the maesters write of the thousand year reign of the Lannister Kings, they will say it began here. The defence of King’s Landing.
Cersei knew that this would be her legacy, her crowning achievement, her greatest glory. She would not fail her son, nor the kingdom that she ruled.
The crystals of the great Sept shone in the low morning light. A refraction of the light of the seven, a beacon for the masses. What he says, they will follow. This meeting would define the course of kingdoms.
She broke her fast with a light meal. Honeyed trout and bread infused with raisins, all washed down with the sweetest wine of the arbour.
The city was already alive with sound. Merchants flogging their wares at the market could be heard loud across the winding streets and closed off cobbled closes as they cried out into the crowd. Children laughed and babies wailed. At one point she peered out of her litter to see a girl as young as Myrcella snap the neck of a pigeon that she had caught. The girl fled at her sight, and Cersei retreated back behind the drapes. These are the people who will defend my city. She hated that she was so dependant on such a rabble, but she would use them if she must.
Footsteps echoed loud and clear through the Sept as Cersei walked towards the alter where the High Septon stood. He was a vast man, wider than Robert but with none of his muscle. His cheeks bulged into folds that wobbled as he spoke, and his chins outnumbered the fingers on his hands. All of King’s Landing knew of his corruption, yet he spoke with the voice of the Gods, and that voice still held sway.
After the saying the necessary prayers to the Mother and the Crone and receiving a blessing from the High Septon, she was led to his solar. It was gaudy, ostentations almost. A mockery of true wealth, a parody of the displays found in Casterly Rock or even the Red Keep. Gold and crystal lined the walls, and the windows were stained glass of every colour under the sun.
“The city is under siege, or will be soon enough.” She said. Her voice was harsh, unyielding. He needed to understand the importance of this battle. “The Stark bastard marches from the north, bringing their heretical Tree God with them. Stannis sits across the Blackwater, halting trade from the sea and worshiping his red demon. The Tyrells of Highgarden and their puppet Renly approach on the Rose Road, backed by the jealousy of the Old Town Sept that strives to replace you.”
He nodded in acknowledgment of the situation, his arms were crossed atop his gelatinous girth. “We are threatened, yes. But what would you have me do?”
Your Grace he should have said. She chaffed at the fat man’s refusal to defer to her station. She was the Queen, not some tavern whore to be spoken down to. Still, as much as she wanted to, she did not correct his lack of courtesies. “Call on the Smallfolk to defend the city from the heretics. If the city falls and the looting begins, will the Northmen respect the divinity of this sanctum? Will Stannis’ fire demon leave this temple unburnt?”
He gave a grimace that made him look like a pig dripping fat over a spit. “The crown already owes the faith significant holdings. We will want payment for this too.”
I would rather burn this sept to the ground then pay you a groat more than is already owed.
“I shall see it done.” She lied. “Do what is needed to defend the city.”
So this is what kingship feels like she mused to herself as he agreed to back her cause, Joffrey’s cause. There was a surge of satisfaction knowing how much power she now wielded.
For too long Robert had wasted his power, squandered his position on strong wine and pretty whores. Not her, she would carve her name large on the face of the mountain of history, writ alongside Lann the Clever, Aegon the Dragon, and her very own father. My name shall overshadow you all.
It was midmorning by the time she emerged from the marble walls of the Great Sept of Baelor. The day was still young, and she had much to do. Cersei Lannister looked across to the Red Keep and the sun rising behind it, and she smiled.