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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 140: The Regent Queen
The Red Keep was quiet, but it was not peaceful.
Cersei Lannister sat in her private chambers, watching the afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows. She held her youngest son in her arms, while his tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb.
Gerion. She had named him after her uncle, the one who had sailed away and never returned. It was a bitter name, a name of loss and longing, but it suited him. He was her last child, her last chance, her last hope.
He was also proof of her sins.
She looked down at him, at his golden hair, his green eyes, his small, perfect face. He looked like his father. Like Jaime. Every time she looked at him, she saw her brother's face staring back at her. It was a constant reminder of what she had done, of the love she had shared with the man who was now missing.
'Where are you, Jaime?' she thought, her heart clenching with worry. 'Why have you not written?'
It had been months since she had sent him to Braavos, months since she had tasked him with hiring the Faceless Men to kill Joffrey. She had expected him to return within weeks, bearing news of a successful contract, of a plan in motion. But there had been nothing. No ravens, no word, no sign that he had even reached the city.
'He is dead,' a voice whispered in the back of her mind. 'He is dead, and it is your fault…Kinslayer.'
She pushed the thought away. Jaime was not dead. He could not be dead. He was the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. He had survived wars, survived battles, survived everything the world had thrown at him. He would survive this too. He had to.
A knock at the door pulled her from her reverie.
"Enter," she said, her voice carefully composed.
The door opened, and Myrcella stepped inside. Her daughter was dressed in a simple gown of pale green, her golden hair pulled back in a braid. She looked older than her years, wearier, as if the weight of the world had settled on her young shoulders.
"You sent for me, Mother?" Myrcella asked, her voice polite but distant.
Cersei nodded, adjusting Gerion in her arms. "Sit. We need to talk."
Myrcella sat on the chair across from her, her hands folded in her lap. She did not look at Cersei. Instead, her eyes were fixed on some point in the middle distance.
Cersei studied her daughter and felt a flicker of irritation rising in her chest.
Myrcella had been so different since her return from Winterfell. She had always been a quiet and polite child, but now she was distant, cold, almost hostile. She spent most of her time with Tommen, or in the sept, or reading alone in her chambers.
She avoided Cersei whenever possible, and when they were forced to interact, she was polite but utterly without warmth.
"You have been avoiding me," Cersei said, her voice flat. "Dont think I haven't noticed."
Myrcella's expression did not change. "I have been busy, Mother. There is much to do in the Red Keep. I have been helping Tommen adjust to his new duties, and I have been-"
"You have been hiding," Cersei interrupted. "You and your brother both. You spend your days in the sept, or in the library, or in your chambers. You never come to court. You rarely even attend your lessons. You act as if you are guests here, not members of the royal family."
Myrcella's jaw tightened. "Perhaps we feel like guests, Mother. Perhaps we feel like we do not belong here."
The words hung in the air. Cersei felt her anger rise, but she forced it down. She could not afford to alienate her daughter further. Not now, when everything was so precarious.
"Tommen has been settling in well," Cersei said, her voice was softer now. "He has been attending his lessons, learning the duties of a prince. He seems... content. So why aren't you?"
Myrcella's expression flickered. "Yes. He is happy to be home. He missed you, Mother. He missed the Red Keep. He missed being somewhere familiar."
Cersei felt a warmth spread through her chest. Tommen had always been her sweet boy, her gentle son. He had been glad to return to her, had hugged her tightly when they had been reunited. Unlike Myrcella, who had been distant, reserved, almost cold.
"And you?" Cersei asked, her voice careful. "Did you not miss me?"
Myrcella was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "I missed the idea of you. The mother I remembered. But the mother I returned to..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "You have changed."
Cersei's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Myrcella looked at her then, her green eyes sharp. "I heard about what happened on the day Joffrey brought us. You ordered the Kingsguard to arrest him. In the throne room, in front of everyone. You tried to have your own son arrested."
Cersei felt her heart stop. "That was... that was a mistake. I was angry, I was-"
"You were angry," Myrcella repeated, her voice cold. "You were angry that he dared to return. You were angry that he had kept Tommen and me safe for two years while you sat here and did nothing. You were angry that he had power you could not control."
"That is not true," Cersei said, her voice rising. "Joffrey betrayed this family. He abandoned his duties, his responsibilities, his birthright. He kidnapped you and your brother and fled to Essos. He allowed Ned Stark to escape. He joined forces with Daenerys Targaryen, our enemy. He is a traitor."
"He is your son," Myrcella said, her voice sharp. "Your firstborn. And you tried to have him arrested in front of the entire court."
"He left me no choice," Cersei said, her voice desperate. "He threatened us. He threatened our family. He stood in the throne room and demonstrated powers that could destroy us all. What was I supposed to do? Welcome him back with open arms?"
"Yes," Myrcella said simply. "That is exactly what you should have done. He returned Tommen and me to you. He protected us and kept us away from the war you started. He asked for nothing in return. And you would have repaid him with chains."
Cersei stared at her daughter, her mind reeling. "You do not understand. He is too dangerous. He is not the boy you remember. He has become something... something else."
"I know," Myrcella said. "I know he has changed. I have seen what he can do. But I have also seen that he is still my brother. He still cares for Tommen and me. He still wants to protect us. And you..." She paused, her voice breaking. "You want to destroy him."
"I want to protect us," Cersei said, her voice desperate. "I want to protect you, and Tommen, and Gerion. Joffrey is a threat to everything we have built. He has joined our enemies. He has powers we cannot match. He will destroy us if we do not stop him."
"He will not be our enemy unless you make him one," Myrcella said, rising to her feet. "He told you that. He warned you. And you did not listen."
She walked toward the door, her movements stiff and deliberate.
"Myrcella," Cersei called after her, her voice desperate. "Please. Do not-"
But her daughter was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Cersei sat in silence, holding Gerion close, her tears falling onto his small face.
'You do not understand,' she thought, her heart breaking. 'You do not understand what I have done to protect you.'
<><>
The next morning, Cersei called a council meeting.
The small council chamber was filled with her advisors.
Lord Tywin sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold as stone.
Grand Maester Pycelle sat nearby, his old hands folded over his belly.
Kevan Lannister, Master of Coin, sat beside his brother, his face grave.
Lord Mace Tyrell, Master of Ships, occupied a chair near the window, attempting to look intimidating and failing at it.
And in the corner, sat a thin man with dark eyes and a receding hairline. Salloreon, the former Myrish merchant who had replaced the Spider as Master of Whispers. He watched everything with quiet calculation.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the King in name only, was notably absent. He rarely attended council meetings, preferring to spend his time with Ser Arys Oakheart, his not-so-secret lover. Cersei had long since stopped expecting him to attend.
Cersei sat at the center, her golden hair carefully braided, her green eyes hard as emeralds. She had spent the night preparing for this meeting, gathering what little information she could, steeling herself for what was to come.
But before she could speak, Tywin's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"We have received troubling news from the North," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "The Starks have declared their independence. They will no longer kneel to the Iron Throne."
The chamber fell silent. Cersei felt her jaw tighten. She had intended to lead this meeting, to present the information herself. But her father had taken control, as he always did.
"Independence?" Pycelle repeated, his voice trembling. "But... but that is treason. That is rebellion."
"It is," Tywin agreed, his eyes fixed on the Grand Maester. "And it is hardly unexpected. Lord Stark was treated poorly during his time in the capital. He was imprisoned, and his daughters were held as hostages. Did you truly believe he would simply forgive and forget?"
Pycelle shrank back, his face pale. "I... I only meant..."
"You meant nothing," Tywin said, cutting him off. "Your opinion is noted. Now be silent."
The chamber fell quiet again. Cersei watched her father, her mind racing. He was in control, as always. He had taken her meeting and made it his own.
"What of the other Northern houses?" Tywin asked, his gaze shifting to Salloreon. "Do they support this madness?"
Salloreon stepped forward. "According to my sources, yes, my lord. The Karstarks, the Umbers, the Manderlys…they have all thrown their support behind Ned Stark. They have declared the North an independent kingdom, free from the rule of the Iron Throne."
"And what of the Riverlands?" Tywin asked. "The Vale? Do they also seek to break away?"
"No word yet, my lord," Salloreon said. "But we must assume the worst. If the North succeeds in breaking away, others may follow. We are sure that the Dornish are plotting something, and this could give them the chance to act. This could be a disaster if we dont act quickly. "
Tywin's jaw tightened. "Then we must crush them. We must march north and-"
"And do what?" Cersei interrupted, her voice sharp. She had been silent long enough. She would not let her father dictate everything.
Tywin turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "And remind them who their rightful rulers are."
"We have no army large enough to invade the North," Cersei said, her voice cold. "Not with winter approaching. Not with the threat in the East. You said this to me before."
The chamber fell silent. Everyone knew what she was referring to. The threat in the East…the Targaryen queen, the dragon king, the army that was growing larger by the day.
"What news do we have from Slaver's Bay?" Tywin asked, his voice grim. He did not acknowledge Cersei's interruption, but his eyes were filled with irritation.
Salloreon nodded. "Daenerys Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon have successfully conquered Meereen. They have freed the slaves, destroyed the Masters, and established a new government. They have an army of Unsullied, Dothraki, and freedmen. And they have dragons."
"Three dragons," Pycelle added, his voice shaking. "Three dragons, and a sorcerer who has already demonstrated his power."
Tywin was silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. Then he spoke, his voice cold and measured.
"The North is a distraction. A troublesome one, but a distraction nonetheless. The real threat is in the East. If Daenerys Targaryen crosses the Narrow Sea with her army and her dragons, we will be overwhelmed. We must deal with her first."
"And how do you propose we do that?" Cersei asked, her voice sharp. "We have no fleet large enough to challenge her. We have no dragons of our own. We have no-"
"We have the Tyrells," Tywin said, cutting her off. He glanced at Mace Tyrell, who straightened in his chair, his face flushing with importance. "Lord Mace, how many ships can Highgarden provide?"
Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest. "The Reach has the largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms, my lord. We can provide two hundred ships, perhaps more if given time to prepare."
"Two hundred ships," Tywin repeated, his voice flat. "And how many men?"
"The Reach can raise a hundred thousand men," Mace said, his voice swelling with pride. "Perhaps more."
Tywin nodded slowly. "Then we have the makings of an army. But ships and men alone will not be enough. We need a fleet that can challenge the Targaryen forces at sea. What we need is…"
He stopped as the doors to the chamber opened. A guard stepped inside, his face pale with urgency.
"Your Grace," the guard said, bowing low. "Forgive the interruption, but there is a matter of great importance."
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "What matter?"
"An envoy has arrived from the Iron Islands," the guard said. "He requests an audience with the Queen, personally. He claims to have crucial information about her son."
The chamber fell silent. Cersei felt her heart stop.
"My son?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The guard hesitated. "He says it concerns Joffrey Baratheon, Your Grace. The Sorcerer Prince."
Cersei's blood ran cold. She glanced at Tywin, who was watching her with sharp, calculating eyes. She glanced at Salloreon, who had gone very still. She glanced at the others, their faces a mixture of confusion and fear.
"Who is this envoy?" Tywin demanded, his voice cutting through the silence. "What is his name?"
The guard swallowed hard. "He is Euron Greyjoy, my lord. The current Ruler of the Iron Islands."
The silence that followed was deafening.
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