Chapter Text
With the departure of the bastard and her daughter along with all the other Starks, so too departed her restful nights. Snow’s accursed pups seemed to take turns practicing acrobatics in her womb as if they were meant to be fools or those flexible whores that Myr was so very proud of. All night they writhed and squirmed endlessly in an endless bid to deprive her of sleep.
In the quiet of her room she damned Eddard’s illborn spawn. Cersei wished that she had sealed their separation with another slap as per tradition, she would have liked to see his skin marked by her hands once more. He could have worn her crimson favor, her claim, upon his cheek and in time it would have turned purple to match his eyes.
Cersei rolled onto her other side, rubbing her thighs together and clenching her fists. If it wasn’t the twins acting like wild beasts in her belly then it was the cravings, and they were not limited to food. She longed for his talented tongue just as his mouth surely hungered for her sweetness from afar. Her cunt cried for its nightly routine only to be deprived of the pleasure, it weeped at the cruelty of it all for it was as soft, lonely and tight as a vapid maid.
With a frustrated whine Cersei ran her hand over her heavy breast, over the ever growing swell of her pregnancy, and finally dipped her hand into the rich golden valley between her thighs. She closed her eyes and pictured her pet soothing her, tending to her needs as expected of him, Cersei remembered vividly how he’d please her and calm her babes.
She lifted her leg and could practically feel his soft touch caress her legs, his kisses on her swollen ankle, his fingers massaging her sore soles. Snow’s lips would climb and climb up her calf and down the backside of her thigh, it was a sweet torture that she desired. Cersei propped her leg on his back, already scratched and clawed from her previous pleasures. He planted kisses on her belly before eagerly delving into her wet core, his nose buried in a trim patch of gold curls. His ruby tongue lapped and licked, spooning up her royal nectars.
For all that she hated sluggish sex, Cersei would admit she enjoyed Snow’s slow devout worship. His eyes always seemed brighter and more beautiful when his head was between her legs, it always sung to her pride. The bastard knew his place was with his mouth against her nethers and he was happy to serve.
His fingers curling inside of her was something she felt more than she saw, her curved middle blocking much of the glorious image. The pads of his digits pawed at the spongy spot and made her back arch.
Snow hummed appreciatively into her core as he feasted on the best treat of his life. His free hand caressed her legs, hip and belly like the sappy Stark that he was.
It wasn't long before she felt the pleasure inside of her near its bursting point. As if he knew, the bastard fingered deeper and his face buried further into her cunt. He was so- so- pathetic…
The memory, for it was far from fantasy, collapsed when she did. Cersei was left with a racing heart, heavy breaths and hollow dry rage. She wished to smash his skull with her goblet for leaving her so needy and spoiled. Cersei was disgusted with herself. Slumping, she slipped her fingers from her pulsating walls with an empty feeling consuming her.
Her hand was thoroughly slicked with her release, wet and filthy. Cersei looked to the basin across the room and groaned, it was so far. Normally Snow would brave the open air to retrieve it while she relaxed and watched as he spread her legs and washed her. But the bastard was no longer in King’s Landing, no longer able to tend to her every need like the queen she was. She missed being catered to.
Cersei had entertained the thought of taking another lover to sate her, but had quickly rejected the idea. She hadn’t done so because of Snow’s departing words, her meager confidence that such a man could truly satisfy her, or even the unfair expectations of women of her station; she did so to protect her twins from further filth. It was bad enough that they had the blood of mangy wolves, it would be too much to have another man’s cock and seed sully her cunt, so near her babes. She couldn’t bear to suffer one more beast like Robert who only provided pleasureless or more often than not painful sex. Cersei couldn’t risk her children, not when their appearance could protect her crown. Plus there were few, if any, who deserved her, not even Snow, obviously not Snow.
Oh how Cersei loathed how much she wanted the bastard back in her bed rather than his frosty hellscape. She missed his service was all; the pleasure and the pampering that should rightfully be hers.
Resigned to her solitary fate, Cersei moved to wash herself just to be blessed with the twins squirming inside her. She longed to scream in frustration but held herself back. How did Snow do it? How did he still and silence them so easily without killing them?
A conversation came to the forefront of her thoughts, one nearly forgotten; after she had gotten her answers she had cared little for the interaction. She recalled watching the bastard mutter nonsense into her middle and asking what language he was speaking if only because she felt ignored in favor of their spawn.
His eyes had flicked upwards as his lips still ghosted against her stretched skin. "The Old Tongue. And yesterday High Valyrian."
"A Northman speaking High Valyrian?" She had found that intriguing, though not worth much thought.
Her toy hadn't thought it as great an oddity as she. He had only shrugged. "I'm still learning."
Cersei had demanded more simply to kill the boredom. "Why?"
His answer had been unexciting and dull, she hadn't even cared to remember it. She'd even left him to his menial task of speaking to the babes uselessly, it wasn't as if they could speak back, only listen and feel.
One of the vile beasts squirmed again and she growled. Looking down at her pregnancy, Cersei wanted nothing more than to shove her hand up her cunt and rip the pest out early. Instead she threw her head back and released a long drawn out sigh.
Her hand traced the great curve of her stomach. "You two are parasites. Truly ungrateful leeches. A queen should get to sleep. But what can be expected of you considering your disgusting sire."
For a long moment they were still, enough for her to visit the privy and wash up. But as soon as she returned they started up again.
Cersei pulled at her hair in exasperation. Letting out a huff, she rubbed her belly soothingly, though she would rather punch it. She prayed they would give her peace. "I am going to strangle the bastard who put you two in there when you are born." She went on vowing various threats against their father for an excessive amount of time, Cersei only wished he could have heard them.
If the twins hadn't calmed she might have mocked herself for speaking to them but perhaps Snow had been on to something.
As entertaining as it had been to vent her anger to her babes and threatening them with the gelding of their father, Cersei decided plotting insults ruined their impact; planning proved that the bastard lingered in her mind.
In place of curses and vows of maiming, Cersei read. She had attempted to read the books that the withered fool had suggested but quickly grew bored of children's stories filled with useless maidens and tomes on motherhood written by septas of all people. Instead her readings were of poisons, flowers in actuality as it was suspicious for a woman and a queen to study poisons. If Myrcella's garden received royal attention even in her absence, who was to question the lonely queen's readings and her caution.
The rare entries on harmful effects proved entertaining despite the extremely dull language. If she envisioned the effects upon her enemies then the reading wasn't a complete chore, imagining Catelyn Stark clawing her own throat out made the book too good for her to set down. Beside soothing her babes the texts did have an ulterior purpose.
She had already possessed one book on her main subject of interest, an old remnant from her plots to end Jon Arryn and his inquiries. Cersei reread the volume in whispers for her twins. One chapter had refused to relinquish her attention if only because of its name, she blames the parasites for favoring the animal.
Wolfsbane. Ten months prior it had caught her eye for one of its other aliases: women's bane. Cersei had thought it amusing to label Robert with the poison. She had read the section over half a dozen times, each time feeling lighter and lighter. It was truly perfect. Her children at least had good taste.
Robert's poor health would work wonderfully to conceal the assassination, no one could claim the man's body was of good constitution. Failure of the heart or lungs was common for those of such weight. It was almost laughable how many of the effects would be masked by the drunk's usual state. It wouldn't be ideal if the king shat himself but Cersei found it pathetic and amusing enough a possibility to overlook. It was doubtful anyone would even recognize the fat fool was poisoned.
The hard part would be feeding it to the lousy king but she didn't need to wait long for an opportunity to arise. Not even a fortnight after Snow and Myrcella's departure Robert exited the city, lured by word of a white hart in the Kingswood.
Her days began to pass by quicker as she slept easier, her nights filled with fond dreams of her husband's death. Some nights he was impaled on the pronged antlers of his own sigil, some he collapsed before a great white wolf or was torn apart by three lions, once he was swallowed whole by a dreadful black dragon with a maw as spacious as her chambers and eyes the same blazing green as wildfire.
Most of her time was spent in her chambers but when Cersei felt cramped she walked her daughter's gardens. She'd rarely visited the location before Myrcella had been stolen away by the Starks. Her blood boiled that the garden's most beautiful feature was missing. The fool had sent away her only girl, sold her off, and so Cersei plotted her revenge and enacted it. She thought it only fitting that the garden played its part in her vengeance.
With Robert away and his death arranged, she only had to wait. Her readings turned from agriculture and sums to economics, from poisons and dosage to preparation for her meeting with the Iron Bank. Cersei loathed almost every second she spent with her head in a book. It should be a lesser's duty to kill whoever she says and to squabble over coppers. Her hands shouldn’t be dirtied with such tasks, though Cersei would relish the scarlet dripping from her stained fingers.
What was almost worse than demeaning herself with menial tasks was the waiting; waiting for Robert’s heart to stop, waiting for the coin counters to arrive and waiting for the twins to be born.
Cersei paced the chambers with a white rage that seemed just as eager to settle in her swollen ankles as her lungs. She had waited weeks to command the Braavosi and while the results were begrudgingly acceptable, the process was torture.
Negotiating with the Iron Bank representative had her regularly restraining threats to raze Braavos to the ground as even the Valyrians failed to do. Hours of haggling had proven moderately successful. Robert's debt had made things considerably harder on her but she ensured any thief's holdings went to the crown. Of course it wasn't without hefty concessions.
It had been infuriating to have been so stifled by up-jumped fishmongers. She was a Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and yet she had been forced to bow to the terms of a legacy of slaves. One day Cersei would topple their titan and carve a face into the corpse of every faceless man. She and her children would not be lorded over by kings or anyone, much less bankers. No longer.
She glared out at the city and beyond, towards all the ants and lords that may dare to challenge her. Any who reached too high would lose a hand if not their head.
The slow waddling gait of a monster echoed behind her. He was an undying and unwanted storm that frequently orbited her, causing only grief. Tyrion. If only she could escape him, or better yet remove his presence forever. "I hear you spoke with a representative from the Iron Bank."
"What of it?" Her tone was dismissive, though she’d rather sneer. Snow’s words still urged her not to prod the beast if she didn’t wish to get bit. She had enough enemies at the moment, the dwarf could wait a little longer for his end.
Tyrion made a disappointed sigh over the chiming of a goblet against a pitcher; water, a great disappointment to them both. "I was only curious about why it was you and not the king or master of coin. You are not one to bother with something as trivial as counting coppers."
Cersei snorted. "Neither is our great king."
"Yes, of course, we wouldn't have the pleasure of Littlefinger's presence if his grace had a great mind for gold. But why you specifically?" Curse the dwarf and his inquiries. If only his nosiness could be ended with the swift removal of his snubbed feature.
Her eye twitched and Cersei dosed her rage with a long sip of cold water. "It is no concern of yours."
The stunted fool pushed his luck once more. "Perhaps not but humor me."
Humor him, she did, his life was a jest, if a cruel one towards her and House Lannister. There was little harm in giving a partial truth. "I was only confirming that a criminal's holdings are inherited by the crown and not absorbed by the bank should we take the man's head."
"You do not suspect me of something I hope? I am missing enough flesh already, I don't believe that I could wear headless well." The ugly beast put on his motley.
As hard as Cersei might to heed the bastard’s counsel, she couldn’t resist. "It would be an improvement."
A chuckle escaped the shriveled retch, her barbs had truly dulled if the imp as well as Snow laughed in the face of their edge. "Jokes aside. You truly worry over this?"
If Robert hadn’t wasted away the crown’s wealth on whores then she needn’t have troubled herself but he had. Though she now longer needed to fret, the issue would be remedied soon. "I do not, but I will not tolerate someone making a fool of the crown. Nor will I let the Braavosi, the prostitutes and sailors that they are, lay claim to Joffrey's rightful gold. Robert has squandered enough and someone must fix the fool's mistakes."
"How thoughtful of you." Tyrion momentarily ceased his mocking at the ferocity of her glare. "I mean no ill, I simply found it surprisingly intelligent and mothering of you ."
Her restraint broke at the insult, the insinuation clear. "Get out, I needn't stand your backhanded compliments. Your presence is insulting enough."
Under the heat of her eyes the imp bowed, as he should. "As you wish." Tyrion turned but after his first step he faced her once more with a suspect smile. "One last thing: the new ring, it looks nice." Having said his piece and taking advantage of the beat her heart skipped, the dwarf tottled into the halls.
Cersei’s gaze burned a hole into Tyrion's shadowy wraith. She ripped her digits from the white and scarlet ring as soon as she noticed how she’d been fiddling with it.
The imp couldn’t possibly know. There was no conceivable way that he could. But he was up to something.
She groaned as the thunder sounded from her door, Cersei had only just succumbed to the dark fantasies of her dreams. If she was robbed of her slumber for no good reason then whoever was at her door would never be found again. It might take hours more of reading to settle her merciless spawn.
As the hammering continued she rose and threw on a loose gown. “Your Grace!” came from the other side between booming songs.
Bleary and annoyed, the queen ripped the door open to reveal the grizzled face of the Lord Commander. She used his shock to snap, “What?”
The moment Ser Barristan took to collect himself lasted seconds too long. “Your Grace.” He bowed slightly as custom. “I apologize for waking you, however I must reluctantly inform you that His Grace has passed.”
Cersei blinked then blinked again before comprehending the situation. The head of the Kingsguard had accompanied her loving husband on the hunt and he was now before her, they had returned and Robert… The whoremonger was dead and suddenly she was wide awake. “How?”
With her newfound awareness Cersei could see the wariness and suspicion in the knight’s blue eyes but he did his duty. “His Grace collapsed before a boar. Had the king not ordered us off we might have slew it before the beast bloodied its tusk." Guilt lingered in the old knight’s tone, he’d failed to protect another king from another Lannister.
“He collapsed?” Cersei inquired with genuine curiosity. She wanted to know if Robert’s heart had given before the boar savaged him. Regardless, her hand doubtlessly organized his death. She would have favored personally clawing him to shreds slowly over a fortnight or beating him until he was blanketed in every bruise he'd ever left upon her but the fool was not worth the trouble to organize such a lavish event. A boar was an acceptable substitute; the great Robert Baratheon, felled by a pig.
The kingsguard frowned and dipped his head. “As he readied his spear for the boar's charge, His Grace stumbled and clutched his heart. We were too slow.”
Her lips twitched but she resisted grinning. “You cannot obey and save a fool at the same time.” Under distrustful blue eyes, she saw no need to feign grief, the man had certainly been witness to enough of her bruises to know the apathetic state of her marriage. “Could he have been poisoned?”
Pausing, Selmy’s wariness gave way to confusion. “We suspect not; Lord Renly and others had drank from the same stores and a taster survived the remainder of His Grace’s wineskin. The king’s heart must have faltered naturally from his drinking.”
Cersei nodded, inwardly celebrating as much as her babes were. “It was about time he bore the consequences of his own indulgences rather than those around him.”
Ser Barristan had no comment. Idly she wondered if he too had drank from the cask. A few diluted drops may not have hurt the younger men or those in a shape that wasn’t spherical but the knight was among the eldest in Robert’s company. Selmy had been the greatest risk in her plot but he was old and if he too had fallen, who was to say his fragile heart could have endured the shame of failing another of his charges. His dutiful nature appeared to spare her the potential complication.
Her husband, with his great consumption, vast weight, and the wine weakened constitution, had not been so lucky. The fool had made it too easy.
“And what of the boar?”
The Kingsguard grunted. “Dead, Your Grace.”
She had no opinion on that though the thought of feasting on the beast that gutted her husband made her mouth water and her stomach whine. Better yet was that her babes would be fed on the boar's flesh, that they’d be made in small part of the creature that savaged a king. She loved the twins more and more with every day. Within her belly she could feel the two’s hunger combine with her own. She craved pork. “Has the entirety of the hunting party returned or are you all that has arrived?”
“I rode ahead, my queen. The others should arrive with the king’s corpse by afternoon.”
That made things easier though Cersei would have preferred more time. “Have you told anyone else?”
The knight shook his steel clad head. “Only you, Your Grace.”
Good, Cersei mused. “See to it that it stays that way. Wake my brother and inform him, only him, to secure the keep at dawn. Then you may return to your quarters and rest. On the morrow you may inform the Hand and the council. We shall deal with this then.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Selmy bowed at the dismissal and turned to leave. His armor lightly clinked as she walked away.
Her stomach panged once more. “And have someone fetch me some fruit.” She should have demanded pig, bacon.
Ser Barristan paused. “Yes, my lady.”
Smiling at his back, Cersei sunk back into the shadows of her chambers. Her heart was flooded with the elation of Robert’s death, she could almost dance despite her sore feet and swollen ankles. She was finally free of the Baratheon’s wretched stupidity, his bruising touch, and his disgusting stench. Cersei would finally be the queen she was always meant to be, unrestrained by the fool that her father forced upon her.
When her platter of fruit arrived, Cersei would admit that she’d never tasted anything so sweet, she tasted victory in every cut of apple and every grape or smokeberry.
For the first time in weeks she slept with a smile on her face. Her dreams swamped with visions of the morrow’s supper and the succulent meat she’d devour.
From the front row Cersei gazed at the corpse laid in the center of the Great Sept, her vision clouded by an inky vale. For all that she had limited her expenses she had been unable to resist celebrating. She indulged her pettiness with her mourning gown: a beautiful dress of shiny black silk adorned with ruby tears across the breast. It felt glorious to cloak herself in the colors of the house she had been meant to wed into, to wear the colors of her late husband’s sworn enemy, and to so openly display her pregnancy to all present, not that any knew the truth. The ring gifted from the true father of her twins was secured to the back of her left palm.
Her eyes took in the massive hammer that rested flat upon the middle of the corpse, only possible for the first time in a decade due to all the innards that the boar relieved Robert of. The very weapon that was responsible for dooming her to her retched marriage, by crushing her silver prince and scattering her rubies. She hated the ugly thing. Laughably the Faith proclaimed it a symbol of the Smith and the Warrior.
Cersei glanced at her children as the High Septon droned on. Joffrey shifted impatiently, he was evidently as bored as she was. Unfortunately her son would have to suffer two and a half months until he would properly be crowned, longer until his regency is over. Her youngest stood with slumped shoulders and a frown. Myrcella’s absence was not something that Cersei wished remedied, it amused her greatly how little of Robert’s family had attended, both false and true.
She had sent a raven to Dragonstone with no expectation of a reply much less Stannis’ attendance, it had been a courtesy, another weapon to remove from the second son’s arsenal.
The youngest Baratheon brother foolishly never returned to the city from the hunt, his garrison scampering away from the city the following day just like their lord. She had been tempted to imprison the lot of them but had permissed their flight as Cersei had been tempered by Snow’s advice. ' Image is everything.' Let the pampered fawn appear the villain and her the innocent. She'd get revenge in time for trying to replace her as queen with the little rose.
If the bastard was to be believed then the brothers would fight themselves before daring to challenge her. Renly would not bow to his elder and the dour man’s bat-eared daughter, nor would Stannis easily acquire the Stormlords with the charisma of a stone wall. Cersei would gleefully await word of which brother proved a kinslayer. All Cersei had to do was wait.
Dorne was the only threat but if she had to burn her father’s legacy to save her own she would. They could have the Mountain and Lorch. If she exposed her father’s sins then it was only retaliation for swindling her kingdom.
'Image is everything.'
Eddard Stark remained the sole attendee that was close to her husband and not even he shed a tear, the Northman’s face was as stoic as ever. Even the Quiet Wolf was under her claws. He'd do as she wishes and the North will follow.
'Image is everything.'
As the ceremony came to a close Cersei was assaulted by a crowd of sycophants seeking to offer their condolences. She accepted their false sympathy with grace as if she did not wish the same fate as Robert’s upon them all.
Her feet ached after faking gratitude and grief for what felt as if hours. She sank back onto her chair while dreading the journey back to Maegor’s Holdfast. Her sons and their sworn swords were already gone and she cursed their betrayal.
Cersei huffed and returned her gaze to the carcass. The sept was quiet once more and her mind was free again. She looked towards the face of her dear husband and the painted stones upon his pale face.
‘...stones will be their eyes…’
She had prayed that the end of her marriage would coincide with another change or even an end to the prophecy. Cersei had expected to return to Maggy’s ratty tent in her dreams but every night she had only been graced with dreams of lions, scars, Snow, and green flames. Robert’s death surely must have changed the prophecy as it seemed incredibly unlikely managed to impregnate twelve more whores in less than half a year. Even the dimmest sluts had the wisdom to use moon tea. Was the prophecy truly inevitable or were the bastard’s interpretations correct?
'I recommend burning the bodies as the Targaryens and Tully’s do.'
The bastard's words were summoned to the forefront of her mind. Once the suggestion had enraged her, now it nearly made her laugh as a thought came to mind. Snow had intended for her children to be cremated but a better option presented itself. Robert’s rotting remains may sit in the sept for seven days but he would burn. His ashes shall drown at the bottom of her privy, all Storm’s End would receive would be from her fireplace. His legendary hammer could be thrown into the sea.
"I'd have never thought you of all people would shed tears over Robert’s death." Eddard Stark spoke beside her.
Cersei flinched at the realization she was no longer alone before growing confused and insulted. Her crying, absurd. Subconsciously she reached under her lace veil to graze her cheek and easily refute Stark, but they returned wet…
She stared at her shiny fingertips in disbelief. Tears coated her digits, surely they were not shed in Robert’s name, Cersei couldn’t fathom how they were shed at all. One moment she had been gleefully plotting the desecration of a king's remains and then she was crying? No, Eddard had it confused; her tears were weeped for her children and caused by her pregnancy and finally escaping her marriage, her stifled smile mistaken for a quivering lip.
After peering around for ears, she scoffed. "You give him far too much credit if you think my tears are out of sorrow. Robert was only good at hurting people, a warrior, that was the sole thing that sorry septon had the right of."
Stark’s brows creased and he gained a constipated look. "Surely he was a good father, I've seen it myself, he loved his daughter during our time in the Vale." Even Eddard did not seem to believe himself fully.
The girl, it always came back to that girl, that haunting spectre which threatened her children, the one out of her reach. "He doesn't love mine. Or any of the rest. The Spider is the one to send gifts to his half-Florent spawn in Storm's End."
Disappointment grew in the Hand’s eyes. Still Stark defended the fool. "Your children are still his heir apparents, so he remains better than Aegon the Unworthy."
"Once he tried to bring his bastards here, I wouldn't allow it; I'm not so weak as Aegon’s feeble bride. Robert had no mind for Joff, cared for Myrcella and Tommen just as little. He'd have named that big eared boy heir if I'd shown him slightest weakness. The only difference between him and Aegon was his wife, I am no Naerys." There were few likenesses she shared with the sorriest Targaryen queen.
Ned Stark nodded. "No, you are not followed by such scandals." He was correct in that regard, because Cersei wasn’t so pathetic as to let Robert destroy everything, she killed her husband before he could create a crisis to plague her legacy for a century.
Cersei huffed. "Nor will only one of my babes live." Naerys and her fragile constitution cost the woman her life and many babes, many twins.
"Of course.” Stark seemed to finally recognize the insult in the comparison. “Now, it would do you good not to continue speaking ill of the dead, it is unseemly for the wife of the deceased and carries bad fortune."
She couldn’t hold back a scoff. "I am not speaking ill, I am speaking truths."
Eddard gave a noncommittal hum and fiddled with his doublet. His hand extended out in offer towards her, the Hand’s pin in his palm. "You already seek to name your own Hand, I imagine. I'll be returning to the North, my place is there." A bold assumption.
"You shall not. I do not accept your resignation."
The corners of Stark’s lips pulled downwards into a frown. "Am I your prisoner?"
Yes, she thought. "You are the Hand of the King until Joffrey's nameday."
"Not Lord Tywin?" He seemed curious if unsurprised by this turn of events.
Cersei wanted the Northern as Hand just as much as she did her own father, at least Stark was unlikely to spend much or see the crown’s gold go to his own kingdom. She’d have named his bastard if she had her way, if only so he could please her at night. "Robert named you the Hand of the King."
Stark was not dull enough to accept that dubious answer. "And since when have you cared for his wishes?"
"I never have, but I will not have you abandon my son without showing your support to the rightful king. My daughter is in your family's clutches, I'll not have you undermining me. Should you leave, it'll be known how suspicious it is for you to depart so soon after the king’s death, conveniently right after you stole Myrcella from me. To think: the king was betrayed and murdered by his best friend for a claim to the throne, how tragic." His refusal to make the insipid redhead Joff's queen only supported her claim.
The apple in his throat bobbed as the man gulped down his dread. "How long?"
"Three months.” Part of her wished it was longer so he’d suffer, another wished him gone already. He was insufferable and was only entertaining when tortured. “After Joffrey's coronation, you shall step down honorably and let my son name his own Hand. And you shall be free after publicly pledging fealty, on your honor, to my son."
His stern face gave away little insight into his thoughts, nor did his tone. "Only three months?"
She nodded. "Yes. Only three months, when Joffrey turns fourteen and is crowned you may return to your family. Make no mistake Stark, this is not a choice, you will serve and do so well. Stannis and Renly mean to usurp my son, your presence stops them. Do not presume I will not keep you longer under less hospitable accommodations." She almost wishes he’d test her, but he was too much a coward.
The Northman scowled and chose poorly of her words to scrutinize. "Stannis would not usurp Robert's son."
"You are a fool. He has neglected his position at the small council for nearly a year. His fleet shields Dragonstone rather than the capitol. Neither he nor Renly attended this funeral. And Renly bolted off like a startled fawn as soon as Robert's heart stopped." They were traitors, and Cersei would not and could not stop until she had their heads.
Stark could not argue with her reason as he accepted his fate. “Who is to be regent?"
She turned to him and raised an incredulous brow at the dullard. "I am. And you will help me remove the snakes from the small council in the coming weeks."
“I see.” Eddard was painted with defeat and acceptance, the best look she’d seen him wear.
It took her a week to decide which traitor she wished dead first. With Stannis and his little brother soon to clash antlers, Cersei turned her gaze on lesser threats: the Small Council. Ser Barristan was only an honorable fool, the like of Eddard Stark, and he was the only one she thought to keep. His vows would chain him to her throne, she had little to fear from the old man. However the rest she trusted not and for that they would suffer.
Her instincts had demanded that she squish the Spider first. Cersei remembered the tunnels well, the circular chamber with the Targaryen mosaic and the many branching paths, it was the center of the Spider’s web. She knew not where they all led and where the spymaster’s eyes and ears might be, the uncertainty unnerved her and she’d voiced such concerns to her bedwarmer one evening when he was still present to sate her.
“Does the eunuch know of the tunnel?” Her eyes glanced at the section of cherry wood panel that Snow shifted every night to enter her quarters. If Varys knew then he would need to be swiftly removed, she couldn’t trust anyone with the knowledge of such a secret, of such a vulnerability.
Her bastard tried to sooth her in that submissive way of his, he was so much like a dog eager to please his master. “Doubtful. It is a Targaryen secret and not even many of them knew. Had Elia Martell known then perhaps she and her children might have lived.”
Cersei thanked the gods the Dornish whore hadn’t, it would have been cruel of them to allow her silver prince to die and yet the bony bitch to live. She didn’t voice her disdain for the Mountain’s unwilling sheath, it always made her weak hearted pet clam up and grow reserved with his words. “And how did you, a Stark bastard, come to know of this?”
“There was a Targaryen at the Wall.” Snow shrugged. "Old, blind and under oath."
“Who?”
The Stark frown. “There is no need to kill him, he will not tell another man.”
Once more she cursed her toy’s naivety. A Targaryen would surely desire to plague the reign of the house that usurped them. “How can you be so certain?”
“Death has a way of silencing secrets and he told only one.” Snow’s answer greatly pleased her and she felt secure once more.
Cersei hummed approvingly. “Tell me what you know of the Spider.”
Her bastard obeyed as he was so oft to do. "A man whose task is to uncover secrets likely keeps his own. Arya chanced upon him in the tunnels scheming with a Pentoshi magister. They desire war but not so soon, Daenerys Targaryen and her brother are being used by them. The magister was the one to shelter her and arrange her marriage to the Dothraki."
She listened closely but nearly laughed, the spider’s grand plan almost unraveled by a slip of a girl. "Your sister spied on the spy master?"
Snow grinned both roguishly and proudly, clearly he was as amused as she was, if not more. "She is known as Arya Underfoot back in Winterfell."
It didn’t surprise Cersei that the little scrap of a girl had such a reputation: she’d been half a beast in Winterfell. Joff had complained about the younger Stark girl even more than the elder one. The wild creature even wore leathers and took up the sword as if she had a cock. Cersei thought it fitting she roamed the tunnels like a rat, if the girl wore rags she’d as easily be mistaken for a commoner.
But Cersei held her tongue, a habit that was beginning to annoy her, she had more pressing matters than indulging herself and insulting Snow’s favorite sister. "Anything else I should know about?"
“He has some game afoot and has for a long time but his motives are unclear. The man may claim he acts in the interest of the realm but his actions imply otherwise. I hear that he was the one to inform the Mad King of his son’s intent to remove him using the Harrenhall tourney.” Her toy’s eyes narrowed in cold anger.
Cersei felt a similar fury, had Rhaegar succeeded with her father’s aid then she might have married a king, just as foretold, her silver prince would have cast aside the weak bride his mad sire saddled him with and taken her as his queen now that Aerys’ jealousy was no longer an impediment. He'd never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark had she been at the tourney. She would have birthed dragonlords, princes to rule the realm with absolute power. “It appears he is to blame for much of our grief. I'll see him removed.”
The Stark moved his hand from her belly to her sternum, it didn’t rest heavily but nor was it light, just enough to impede her. "I'd wait."
"Tell me why I should not crush the Spider before he bites?" Cersei snapped, the bastard didn’t understand. The tittering eunuch didn’t wander the halls of Winterfell where his family slept. Snow was not surrounded by plots to cast him down.
Snow lifted his hand to express his innocent intentions then wrapped the arm around her middle once more to stroke her side. "The man has the most extensive web of spies. A war is coming, he can be of some minute use. Monitor the sellsword companies of Essos primarily the Golden Company, his allies will come from the east and they have the greatest reason. He must have someone he is pledged to, a figurehead, for it certainly isn’t Viserys or Daenerys. Whoever he backs they need to be drawn out before they can be eliminated. So you'll need to be careful, though I believe that Varys will largely wait out the war."
She pursed her lips and nodded while filled with a cold rage. “So he can crush the weakened victor.” It was an obvious conclusion.
The bastard hummed affirmatively. “He won’t find his opponent to be weak.” A smirk pulled at his pretty lips. A fire danced behind the dusky veil of his eyes. His surety was striking and her cunt eagerly clenched.
Purring, Cersei leaned towards him pleased with his confidence in her. “Of course he won’t.” Her cheek brushed his as she whispered into his ear. She doubted it was necessary but it was wise to throw a bone to her wolf, his information proved useful and he was rather proficient, there were no losses for her.
The memory was the only thing holding her back from removing a more vital organ from the eunuch than his cock. If only she knew which magister in Pentos to send whatever flesh she decided to sever, perhaps in a box of venomous spiders just to make the implication obvious. It was a crime that she could conjure such lovely plans and only implement one. Unfortunately Cersei had to delay such pleasures, the Spider gets to live on, if only for a little longer.
But now she stood in the dungeon eying the target she chose alongside Eddard Stark, a queer ally but a fitting one in this case. The short man was chained to the wall. She wished she could prolong his suffering for stealing from her children but Stark would never abide such cruelty, plus it would be unwise. The words of the bastard of the very lord beside her echoed in her mind.
“You must deal with Baelish swiftly. The man is slimy, he’ll bribe his way out of a cell with your own gold if you give him the opportunity. He employes spies like the rest of you schemers-”
Cersei had cut off Snow for the insult. “Don’t act so mighty bastard, you are no better than me.” He was hers, her spy, her pet and her pleasure.
Unlike the dog he was, he didn't whimper in fear of her wrath as he should. “Aye, aye. His whores pry gossip from their patrons, including men at arms. Give him no time to scurry off like the rat he is.”
And she would not let the squirmy man escape. He was captured suddenly following a council meeting. Cersei had felt the glorious thrill of power as Littlefinger had protested his arrest. His cries of no evidence had fallen on deaf ears. She needed no evidence, Cersei didn't have the time nor the mind to look through the crowns ledgers, so she threw the task to the dwarf, if she must endure his company he at least needed to prove useful. All Cersei truly needed was the perception of justice. Baelish was to be blamed for the murder of Jon Arryn, all his rumors regarding the Tully sisters and his efforts to frame her would be his downfall.
When the block was set in the cell and Eddard was passed a greatsword, one that was not the Stark ancestral blade, the little man began to panic and pleaded to Eddard knowing he'd find no mercy from the queen. "I demand a trial by law! It is a man's right. For the love I bear Catelyn, please! There is no honor here!"
Cersei watched gleefully as Eddard stepped forward. There were only Lannister men around him. It was as amusing to force Stark to break his near perfect honor as it was to see Baelish beg so pathetically.
"Jon Arryn was a man of honor and you killed him." The Hand's voice was cold and stern like Snow's when she drew his ire, but the bastard's carried a whisper of dark promises.
The smarmy man's eyes widened and flicked towards Cersei. "I didn't! I'm innocent! It was her, I swear! I owed everything to Lord Arryn! Jon, he was investigating the king’s bastards. Her children are bastards! By the Kingslayer! She lies! She killed Jon before he could go to the king!"
Scowling, Cersei blew a hot breath of rage out her nose as she resisted killing the man herself. "Absurd. You owe everything to Lysa Tully. You seek to marry her and claim the Vale. Supplant the Arryns with your own blood. The boy appears more your son than old Jon Arryn's, sickly, small and brown haired."
Momentarily Baelish looked shocked as if he never considered the possibility. "None of your children have the Baratheon look!"
"They have the Lannister look, the look of their mother, my look, while young Lord Robert…has neither the look of his father nor his mother." Cersei smirked. "Besides Robert's mother and grandmother were both fair of hair and even Robert's own brother has a touch of green in his eyes." Not that Robert’s foul blood ever made it into any of her babes.
Hope slowly died for the master of coin but a spark reignited it. "All Robert’s bastards have black hair!"
Cersei snorted, that was true and troublesome. "And how many are there?"
"Four that I know of. Six if you count the twins you had killed." Baelish's accusation made her still.
She ignored her fear and continued. "Four. Stark has four children that look like his wife and two that favor him. Robert spent all his time with whores. If they didn't look like Baratheons then their mother could hardly claim them as his, so do not play odds with me. One of my twins may yet have dark hair." Not black but close if luck would have it, so long as their eyes are not pure grey like Eddard’s…
"Even Stannis believes the children are bastards!" Baelish defended. "He wouldn't be on Dragonstone otherwise."
"What Stannis believes to be true and what is reality are not always the same." In this case it was but Cersei would never say so.
Defeat was strewn across the prisoner's face. "I demand a proper trial! You have no evidence of your claims!"
Cersei laughed. "We don't? You deny your claim of taking Lysa Tully's maidenhead? You did not try to frame me? You never tried to instigate war so Catelyn Stark might be widowed and her sons killed? But enough of this farce, we don't need a trial; you are insignificant and overlooked as you wished to be, no one will miss you. Now Stark."
Her men took a step forward, a message that Eddard clearly received. Nodding bitterly. A good dog Stark made, the Hand was nowhere near the wolf his bastard was.
With his miniscule strength Littlefinger attempted to resist as the men carried him to the block. He trashed and kicked like a child. "I'll take the black! Let me take the black!"
"I'm afraid we have reason to believe you might try to escape your service should we offer you such a mercy. Perhaps using gold stolen from the crown." Cersei grinned wider as Baelish ceased his fighting for a split moment. "Your meager holdings have been seized by the crown." She added salt to the wound.
Baelish glared before petitioning Stark once more. "As a friend of Catelyn, please…"
Eddard’s hard glare was leveled at the groveling man, it held similarly to Snow's but lacked all of the appeal. "You are no friend of Cat's."
"I am, I am!" He shouted as he was kicked onto his knees before the block.
"I think not. Especially not after the rumors you spread." Stark shifted the still sheathed blade in his hands.
A cruel smile grew on the small man's lips as he accepted all hope was lost. "They were true, I swear it. I loved her first."
"You'd swear a hundred lies. But let's hear it, when did this happen?" It wasn't a question she expected of Stark, it went against Snow's claim of Ned Stark's faith in his wife.
"The night of her betrothal."
Eddard hummed. "The night you tried to kiss her. The night she pushed you away and laughed. The night you drank so heavily her uncle forced you to bed. You never touched Cat, but Lysa, only ever Lysa: the one who loved you. You were young and drunk and misremembering. Cat came to me a maid and has known no other. You have never bedded Catelyn, nor will you ever."
Baelish's face crumbled as he began to trash once more. A man at arms pushed him down into place. "No, no, it was her!"
Cersei openly smiled at the scene. It was fitting for an enemy of her family to be so thoroughly broken. The man tried to steal from her and her children, tried to start a war to bleed her family. It was only made more enjoyable that she had little doubt that Eddard had no intention of torturing the man judging by his guilty eyes. The soft man was likely trying to give the man peace by truth or some other foolish idea.
"Any last words?" Eddard asked, a courtesy Cersei believed Baelish didn't deserve. The sword slid out of the scabbard.
In his struggle against the black boot on his back, the Valeman looked at Stark. "It was her."
Stark moved into position. "It was not." The Northman ignored Littlefinger's further insistences. "Cease resisting if you wish this to be smooth." His victim heard none of it so he turned to Cersei.
"On with it, Stark." She enjoyed seeing the man, who believed that he could play her for a fool, be broken but Petyr Baelish wasn't worth so much of her time.
Nodding solemnly, Stark frowned. "In the name of the king, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, I do sentence you to die."
Hand of the Queen, Cersei thought, her left hand for he was not who she'd have chosen. The younger Stark would have been preferable.
Eddard raised the sword and let it fall, glowing and flickering in the torchlight like flame itself.
Baelish had moved however; jumped forward and the blade lodged into his shoulder. The man's nonsense had turned into painful screams. The weapon was pulled free in a splatter of blood and he was pulled back into place spilling even more blood.
Something in her stomach churned and Cersei lunged for the bucket by the door.
By the time she had emptied her guts into the filthy container, Eddard had corrected his mistake. Her belly still felt queasy and her mouth still tasted of acid as she gave the command to still throw the severed head in the bucket. Cersei left Stark to deal with the rest.
Another of her enemies has been removed but more lingered. Stannis and Renly were fortunate enough to be out of her reach, others were not so lucky.
Snow had named traitors and those too incompetent for serving her. There were many but chief among them were her guards. “I must say your husband’s Kingsguard are a rather sorry lot. Even the Mad King had better. I’d not trust half of them with watching my back, with dying for me and keeping their vows. Blount is a coward and fat. Trant, Moore and Greenfield have as little morals as they do personality. Oakheart appears adequate though otherwise unremarkable.”
The five guards would be put to the test in time. Even after their fight, Cersei knew that Jaime would protect her, protect her children. And Barristan had spoken his vows and would forever be bound by them. She had the two greatest knights in the realm, two of the Mad King's seven, and then there were the other five. They would have one of two fate: live up to their vows and keep their cloak or lose it and be shamed.
Pycelle, her father’s man, and yet that did not stop his lingering touch for medical purposes. The old bumbling fool, the Grand Maester, a grand mummer and a liar. She was blind to have not noticed sooner. He may yet be cowed and if not then it is not uncommon for an old man to experience an accident on the stairs. Had she not been pregnant and not expecting war then she'd have already had a replacement.
She would need to find a midwife from the city, one worthy of aiding in the birth of royalty, one whose hands were not stained by the spawn of peasants and prostitutes. The citadel would only replace one shriveled old man with another scarcely younger than the first.
Finally the Gold Cloaks would require new leadership. "A man who can be bought can be bought again. Slynt is one such man, send a man to test him and it'll prove me true." She resolved to follow the bastard's plans. Ser Janos shall enjoy the Wall.
King’s Landing would be hers by the time the babes would be born.