Work Text:
Nearly 17 years ago, a Great Rebellion had ravaged Westeros. It had uprooted smallfolk and nobles alike as the old regime fell and a new King took the crown.
Jaime Lannister remembered it well, for he had been a boy of 17 when it all ended. He had been made a Kingsguard at 15, and had been in the new King's service since the very beginning.
Since then, King Robert I Baratheon had wed Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun, fathered a son and 2 daughters on her, led a successful campaign against the rebelling Ironborn, and paid many assassins to get rid of the last remaining Targaryens, though none were successful.
His twin had not become Queen like she had been promised all her life. Instead, she had been whisked away by the Lord of Winterfell to his cold and dreary castle as ‘payment’ for their father’s crimes in the war.
Anger still filled his veins each time the Golden Lion thought about it.
His sister was meant to sit on a throne, to live a life in comfort, to be surrounded by all the gold and finery a woman could wish for in her life. It was simply what a Lannister of Casterly Rock deserved. She was not meant to waste away, for she was of the summer gold.
But the Quiet Wolf had taken the Pearl of Casterly Rock to his icy kingdom and had turned her into his breeding bitch, successfully impregnating her 6 times. His castle was her grey prison for life, meant to dim her summer light and keep her away from admiring eyes.
The Kingslayer resented the man who had become his goodbrother through marriage, and he resented the children as well, even if they themselves could not help who their father was.
It was what those children represented.
However, the oldest son of Tywin Lannister now had a chance to save his sister from the isolation.
He was riding to Winterfell, accompanying the King on the journey.
The golden blonde had last seen the Northerner 10 years ago, during the Greyjoy Rebellion, when his sister had been pregnant for the 4th time. He had wanted to cleave the man’s head off, but the massive direwolf by his side and the men he’d been surrounded with constantly made that impossible.
Perhaps another chance would present itself.
The journey from King’s Landing to Winterfell took 3 months, and they were lucky not to have anything happen to the Queen’s wheelhouse while they went through The Neck. It was still summer in Westeros, but the lands of the North were still cold compared to everywhere else.
As he rode through the gates of the grand grey castle, the 34-year-old immediately spotted his sister.
Despite being dressed as a woman of the North, her golden locks made her stand out in the crowd of men and women with brown and black hair. She stood on her husband’s left side, bear fur lining her woollen cloak, her dress just as grey as the ones her 2 daughters wore, a young boy on her hip suckling his thumb, and another clutching her skirts.
There were 2 more Stark-Lannister boys standing to their father’s right. Both were teens, almost grown men by Westerosi standards, of tall stature. They were dark of hair, and the grey of their wolf coats matched their eyes as it did for their father.
Jaime winced upon seeing the children who surrounded his sister, and he could not contain the pain and the anger he felt. He was certain both emotions showed in his own emerald eyes.
Cersei was not looking at her brother. She was too preoccupied with her youngest pair of sons.
‘Rickon and Torrhen.’ the Kingsguard bitterly reminded himself.
Every time one of his sister’s children had been born, it had been loudly announced to the court by His Grace himself, who had taken great pride in the fact that his best friend was ‘breeding well’.
‘Alaric, Duncan, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, and Torrhen.’ the Lannister of Casterly Rock repeated. ‘My sister’s children, yet all just as dull as their savage father.’
The older girl did have light brown hair, a shade closer to gold than chestnut, and emerald green eyes, but she was still a daughter of the North as she had a long face.
“Ned!” the King’s voice boomed through the courtyard.
“Your Grace.” the Warden of the North politely greeted in return. He appeared to smile, but there was a distinct lack of warmth in his storm-cloud grey eyes.
‘And this man dares to have a bastard.’
It was known to the realm.
When the honourable Eddard Stark returned from Dorne with his sister’s dead body, he brought with him his bastard son, whom he claimed to have fathered on a tavern wench during the war.
Many lords and soldiers had fathered bastards during the rebellion, without a doubt.
Yet none had gone back to claim the children they may have sired.
Just the honourable Lord Eddard Stark.
The Golden Lion had not received word of the bastard boy dying, so he presumed the child was still alive and living somewhere in Winterfell.
Not that it mattered. There were 4 trueborn sons.
“I have not seen you in ages! Where have you been all these years?”
“Here, guarding the North in your name.”
The firstborn son of Tywin Lannister rolled his eyes. ‘Could this man be any more boring?’
Catelyn Tully then exited her wheelhouse, followed by her black-haired, blue-eyed daughters Cassana and Kendra while her son Robb had ridden on horseback with the Kingsguard.
“You should have come to King’s Landing more often.” the fat King said.
Stark motioned to his right. “My son and heir, Alaric.”
“Your Grace.” the teenager addressed his father’s friend as they shook hands, equally monotone and polite. He had the Lannister nose and open eyes, but the rest of him was all Stark.
When the Stormlander took Cersei’s hand, she neatly curtsied despite holding a child.
“Your Grace.” she repeated in her practised tone. “You honour us with your presence.”
The black-haired man acknowledged her greeting but turned to his friend again. “I wish to visit the crypts. I need to pay my respects.”
A certain type of unease fell among the men, but none spoke of it.
The Northerner reluctantly nodded, looked at his wife once, and left with the King.
Leaving it up to Cersei to usher everyone inside.
An older teen with raven hair and grey eyes took the youngest Stark boy from her to free her hands.
“Get your siblings prepped and in their appropriate spots, Snow.” the Lioness called after him.
‘Ah. So that was the bastard.’ Lannister mused. ‘Guess they have their uses as nannies when they get older.’
He could not wait to meet with his sister alone, which he knew was unlikely to happen until later that evening, long after the last meal. He would go to her chambers then, surprise her, and wrap his arms around her as he had done years ago.
The hours crept by slowly.
Too slow for the Kingslayer’s liking.
The golden blonde went to his sister’s chambers at dusk. He found her seated before a mirror, brushing her long locks after having it loose from the braid it had been in all day.
There were no maids tending to her.
“Sister.” the Knight said, announcing his presence to her.
Clearly, she had not expected him as she looked startled. “You scared me half to death!” she put down her brush. “Why are you in my chambers? I don’t think I invited you.”
“Do I need an invitation to be with my own sister?” the Kingsguard asked, frowning.
“You do when I am expecting my husband.” the mother of 6 answered, her voice stern.
Jaime felt displeasure surging through him and scowled. “Is the sex really that good?”
He didn’t want to think about it, but his brain did. He knew his sister must have had sex with her husband many times in order to conceive the number of children she had given him.
“My husband pleases me in that department. His body knows mine, as mine does his.” Cersei replied with something that sounded like an iron resolve.
“Does he pleasure you like I did? Or does he just fuck you like a wolf and take his pleasure from you?” it came out more bitter than intended, but the younger twin felt slighted and jealous. He had thought his sister would fall straight into his arms and all would be as it was before.
But his sister was no longer the 17-year-old girl who was forced to wed a Northman for politics, but had instead grown into a proper Lady of Winterfell who had given birth to her lord husband’s children.
“It is as I said.” the mother of 6 said. “My lord husband and I are compatible in the bedroom. I have no complaints about him, and I would prefer not to talk about our teenage tryst."
“Is that what you call it now? A tryst?” the firstborn son of Tywin Lannister was angered about his sister’s words. “I have waited for you, Cersei. I simply cannot even look at any other woman but you.”
The woman’s green eyes closed momentarily. “Then you are a fool, brother. To return to what we once had would be treason to our respective vows. I have my marriage vows, you have the Kingsguard vows. Our connection as twins is undeniable, but my heart and body belong to another man.”
The Golden Lion scoffed and averted his own gaze. “So it is true then. You have turned into a wolf of Winterfell. Then you have made your decision, sister.”
“It is as it must be.” her voice was resigned, with no emotion.
Lannister left the chambers. He knew he should have saved his sister from this fate years ago, when her heart still belonged to him. He should have whisked her away to Essos, they would have made a living there and raised a dozen golden-haired children.
Instead, his summer sun had resigned herself to be a Northerner’s little broodmare. She had let the wolf cage her lion, forced himself on her, and got her to pump out his pups.
The Whitecloak felt all emotion slowly die inside of him once that realisation hit him. He could not afford to let himself care any longer, letting his heart turn to stone.
He did not watch his sister dance with her husband the following nights. He tuned out when Tyrion started a conversation about the couple. He did not watch how Lord Stark looked lovingly upon his lawfully wedded wife. He did not even bother to look again at his nieces and nephews, for they stood as a symbol for the betrayal Cersei had committed in his mind.
Cersei had chosen to devote herself to the North, allowing her sunlight to be dimmed.
The Knight of the Kingsguard would not forget this. And he would forever blame Ned Stark.
Once her twin was gone, the Lady of Winterfell let out a deep breath.
She had once been desperate for him, for his presence, for his body, for his cock, for he had been her mirror and an extension of herself. Yet the connection with her twin was not like what she had built in the past 16 years with her husband.
Here in Winterfell, she was listened to. Her sharp mind was an asset that her husband wanted her to use during council meetings, and she had taken over the administration. Her husband had no mind for finances, so she gladly took up that part of his duties.
Eddard worked with her, not against her. He did not force her into anything she did not want, nor did he desire for her to be something that she wasn’t. He had no use for pretentious smiles or southern courtesy, as he and his fellow Northmen were practical people.
“What did your brother want?” the Quiet Wolf asked as he stepped into her chambers, his cloak left behind in his own. “Is he still planning on killing me?”
Cersei’s lips twitched, remembering how she had once told him of how her brother thought about what he wanted to do to the man she’d wed. “Mayhaps. But he… wanted to rekindle what we once had.”
She had confessed to her husband about what had transpired between her and Jaime. She had never thought that she would, because she knew it was perceived as a shameful thing in Westerosi society.
She had once dreamed of golden-haired children, hers and Jaime’s. But then she remembered the words of Maggie the Frog, the woods’ witch she had visited in her early teens.
‘Three for you. They will have golden crowns and golden shrouds.’
And now, she does not have golden-haired children.
Which meant no golden shrouds, no early deaths.
All her children had a shade of brown hair, nor did they wear an actual golden crown.
The Warden of the North led his wife to their bed, the same one where they had conceived their six beautiful children and spent many nights together. He laid down beside her and kissed her temple, gently wrapping his arms around her.
“Robert proposed a union, our Sansa for his Robb.” he murmured.
“What did you say to him?” the woman of House Lannister asked.
The dark-haired man sighed. “Told him I would think about it.” his grey eyes looked tired. “I would feel better if she married the son of a bannerman. Donnel Locke, or Cley Cerwyn.”
“She is three and ten, and newly flowered. Marriage proposals for her hand were bound to come in sooner rather than later.” the only daughter of Tywin Lannister stated. She remembered it from when she herself was a young teen, how many Lannister bannermen, as well as Houses from Dorne and the Reach, had sent letters to her father asking for her hand.
But her father had always aimed high and had hoped she would marry Rhaegar Targaryen.
Alas, that never happened. She did not become Rhaegar’s Queen, nor did she become Robert’s. Instead, she had been married to the Lord of Winterfell.
The mother of 6 had not been happy at first, for the North had a reputation of being cold.
But the Ladies of Winterfell were expected to lead in their husband’s absence, to run the household and lead council sessions. They were the neck to their lord husband’s head, an extension of the man they wed, yet also equally important in the harmony of a household.
‘Being Queen sounds nice, but I would never have what I have now.’ the golden blonde thought as she snuggled up into her beloved husband’s embrace. She liked his strong body, the way he kept himself in shape, unlike His Grace and the Lord of Highgarden.
Had she been married to Robert 17 years ago, she would have had a fat pig for a husband instead of this strong Northern warrior that was now in her bed. She would have been miserable despite having all the material wealth she desired, and probably just as bitter as her own father.
“Do you think Sansa will be happy in the south?” Ned asked.
“She does behave more like a Southron lady than her sister.” Lannister replied. “My father will want this betrothal. He will want Lannister blood on the Iron Throne.”
The Stark Patriarch grumbled. “The last time a Stark had southern ambitions, half my family was killed. It is not something I wish to repeat. Yet refusing Robert is… hard.”
“Few would ever refuse a King, but you have good reasons.”
He did, so he would have to do what he must for the sake of his family.