298AC
Cersei POV
She had tried to have the Arryn boy killed when The Oaf, drunk in their bed, first proposed the match. But the Essosi scum she'd hired bungled it, and the boy lived. He could fight—that much she had to admit—and when her father commanded her to consent, she obeyed. As ever, he was right: the boy seemed the best knight in the realm, besting Jaime whenever they met in the lists, and he was no oaf like Robert. Myrcella was happy with him, unlike Cersei had ever been with her king.
If the world were just and true, Myrcella would wed Joffrey as the Targaryens had done—but Joffrey and Myrcella despised each other, unlike her and Jaime. The boy had always had a fancied Cersei even as a boy she had caught him staring at her. Most men did her beauty was a weapon it made most men weak.
The room swayed a little where Cersei stood. Too much Arbor gold, not enough supper. No matter. she thought. chambers smelled of myrrh and hot coals why had the boy requested a privy audience does the boy know the thought twisted her gut like a knife . Even if he did the boy was head over heels for Myrcella and exposing her would mean the deaths of her and her children. Her father was indeed wise in tying the Arryn heir to their cause when she got rid of Robert he could count on Artys and the Vale if she managed to wrap him around her finger. She loosened the bodice of her deep green silk revealing the milky flesh with in and laid on the bed in such a way that caught the lamplight and his eyes. When he came, he came in Arryn blue he was taller than Jaimie and broader at the chest.
"You dragged me from my feast," she said, pouring with a steady-enough hand. "Say something worth hearing." she gave him a flirtatious smirk and her unlaced bodice did the rest, she wanted him flustered and weak.
Artys Arryn looked at her eyes and his eyes lingered at her bodice before bowing and began his tale. Renly, Margaery, gifts and smiles, a plan to set her aside . Fury roiled in the pit of her stomach that sword swallowing scum. She should have had all the Baratheons killed .
For a heartbeat she saw red. Then she saw the shape of it—and the shape of him. Useful. The King will not be moved except by his appetites and his hunts; my brother thinks a sword solves everything; my father sends letters like verdicts from a distant court. Despite being Queen she commanded no armies and they she saw Arty with a calculating eye , He was very comely she could scarcely believe he was only two years older than her Joff.
R18
"Why tell me?" she asked, moving closer. she would like to see his intentions , her silks whispered behind her as she moved towards him. She laid her hand on his chest and gave him a good veiw of her breasts that threatened to spill out . Artys gulped and continued "Because I serve the realm and i could not stand by " he said, even as a judge. "Because I married your daughter. Favor is practical."
Practical. Men love that word when they want to seem clean. The silk of his collar was fine under my thumb. No armor tonight—good. I felt the heat of him through the cloth when she stepped in.
"You have done me a great service and Lannister pay their debts Ser" I said, and I meant it. Words are cheap in this city; mine are not.
He caught her wrist—firm, careful. Respectful. "Your Grace—"
"Do not pretend you have not desired me " she told him, and eased free. she let it. she rose to his jaw and spoke the truth into his skin: "Renly thinks he can replace me. Let him try." Then she kissed the line of his cheek—light first, a test, then the corner of his mouth—longer, warmer.
She set her cup aside and began to slowly unlace her gown, her eyes never leaving his. The deep green silk slipped from her shoulders, revealing her porcelain skin and the curves of her body. Cersei's breasts were full and perfect, her nipples hard and begging for attention. She let the gown fall to the floor, standing before him in all her naked glory.
"You like what you see, Ser Artys?" she purred, her voice a low, seductive murmur. "I am a queen, after all. I demand the finest things, and I expect to be admired."
Arryn's breath hitched, his eyes roaming over her body, taking in every curve and line. "You are... stunning, Your Grace."
Cersei smiled, She approached him, her hips swaying with each step, her body brushing against his as she reached out to unbuckle his belt. Cersei pushed Arryn back onto the chaise, her body straddling his as she took control. She leaned down, her lips finding his in a deep, passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting the wine and the sweetness of his submission. Arryn's arms wrapped around her, his body pressing against hers, his cock throbbing with desire.
With that, she leaned down, her lips finding his cock, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, her teeth nipping and biting, sending electric shocks of pleasure and pain through his body. Arryn's fingers tangled in her hair, his grip tight as he held her close, his hips thrusting into her mouth.
Cersei pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
"Tell me, Artys," she purred, her voice husky with lust. "Am I better than Myrcella?
Artys POV
Artys rode along the kingsroad toward Riverrun by way of Harrenhal, ten days out of King's Landing. It was stupid to fuck Cersei—stupid, stupid. My cock could have gotten me killed. Years of planning—what is wrong with me? he cursed himself. He was sure his new squires and Myrcella's new ladies-in-waiting would have reached Riverrun by now.
Littlefinger's warning was another splinter in his mind. Who else might have learned about Cersei? Artys had commanded Baelish to deal with whoever possessed such knowledge. The very thought left bile on his tongue. Stannis—prickly as he was—remained a great administrator and a dutiful servant of the realm. The idea of having to kill such a man so these incestuous twins could continue their affair sat ill with him.
He bit his tongue. There was more than his own ambition at stake now. Millions might die in the coming winter even without a civil war; if the Long Night came, humanity itself could be at risk. Myrcella did not deserve the humiliation of being named a bastard born of incest. She was his wife. For all his Machiavellian calculations, he would not allow that fate to befall her. She deserved better. He was not a faithful husband—but he would at least be a protective one. So long as Robert lived, his brother might plot and scheme, but they would not rebel. Artys needed to rid himself of Joffrey before then; he would not have that cruel fool anywhere near the throne if he could help it.
Harrenhal loomed ahead, a massive stone monstrosity with ruined towers clawing at the sky. His great-grandaunt Shella Whent was Lady of Harrenhal. The castle could have swallowed every other stronghold Artys had seen and still had room to spare. No fortress in Westeros matched its size save Casterly Rock, which was carved into a mountain. Here the seeds of Robert's Rebellion were sown. Artys had heard a hundred versions from a hundred mouths, but the constant was this: Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark met here; a year later the prince abducted her, and the rebellion that ended the Targaryen dynasty began. Artys was half Tully, and when he took the throne in Myrcella's name he would need the Riverlands on his side. The riverlords were quarrelsome, and several were richer and more powerful than House Tully, making it hard for Riverrun to punish insubordination. By bestowing honors on his uncle's most powerful bannermen, Artys hoped to keep them loyal when the time came.
By the time they reached the gate, it was dusk. The portcullis lifted, and a maester stood there with a few men-at-arms in the bat of House Whent. The old maester, holding a torch, looked at Artys with apprehension.
"My lord of Arryn, I have dire news from King's Landing."
Artys's heart skipped a beat. "What is it?"
He swung down from the saddle and snatched the parchment from the maester. The ink was gold, the royal stag impressed upon the seal. He knew Robert's spiky, untidy hand anywhere.
"Lord Arryn has passed away in his sleep…"