CERSEI
The morning sunlight streamed in through the high windows, illuminating the wooden breakfast table. On the table, various sweet dishes were laid out, lemon cakes, fresh fruits, and honey, yet Cersei's appetite was slightly disturbed.
"Cersei, do you know where Jaime is?"
The voice was shrill and slightly hoarse. Cersei lowered her porcelain cup slowly, her emerald-cold eyes shifting to stare at the source of the sound. Tyrion. Her four-year-old brother sat there, perched atop a stack of cushions so his chin could reach the edge of the table. His deformed face, with a protruding forehead and mismatched eyes, made this bright morning feel as if it had lost a little of its light.
Every time she saw him, Cersei felt an instinctive urge to turn her face away. This little creature was the reason her mother was gone. However, Cersei restrained herself. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of a greater purpose.
To be a graceful Queen by Rhaegar's side later, she had to possess steely fortitude. She had to be able to tolerate unpleasant things, even the worst of them. If she could face the dirty and smelly smallfolk without wrinkling her nose, then she should be able to face her own brother. This was practice. Practice in patience for her future on the throne.
Also, on second thought, it was not entirely the boy's fault that mother was gone.
"He is Uncle Tygett's squire, Tyrion," Cersei replied in a flat tone, her pitch perfectly controlled. "He is very busy. Cleaning swords, polishing armor until it shines, tending horses, and doing whatever Uncle Tygett tasks him with. That is a man's duty."
Cersei shook her head slightly, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight, then sipped more of her orange juice to rinse the annoyance from her tongue.
"He only just arrived five days ago, and he is already gone again," Tyrion said with a childish bitterness, his lips pouting. His small, chubby hands played with breadcrumbs on his plate. "He didn't even have time to finish reading the story. Even though I just made up my own story, and this is the best one..."
Cersei raised a perfectly formed eyebrow. Stories.
Jaime indeed had strange habits. He liked telling fairy tales to the deformed child. And of course, as part of Jaime's strange 'curriculum', he also told those stories to Cersei. Jaime said those stories would help her understand 'human nature' to captivate Prince Rhaegar.
Cersei knew the story of the girl named Cinderella who got a prince with only a glass slipper, about the naive Snow White who ate a poisoned apple, then the Beast loved by a beautiful girl. The women in those stories were so weak, so dependent on magic, that Cersei often had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes every time Jaime told them.
However, she had to admit, there was a pattern there. Jaime did not create those stories without reason. Behind the naivety of the characters, there were lessons about emotional manipulation, about how kindness, or at least the image of kindness, could be a potent weapon.
Her thoughts drifted for a moment to Duskendale. Prince Rhaegar and her Father were still there, besieging the rebellious town. It had been over a month. The news coming to Casterly Rock was minimal. Cersei tapped her finger on the table. She did not care about King Aerys's fate. In fact, in her heart of hearts, she hoped the King would die soon at the hands of Lord Darklyn. Aerys's death would smooth Rhaegar's path to the throne, and accelerate her own coronation as Queen.
The sound of rustling paper broke her reverie. Tyrion was shifting a stack of papers on his lap, trying to tidy them with his clumsy hands.
"You are noisy, Tyrion," Cersei said sharply, pointing to an empty chair across the table closer to her. A safe distance, yet close enough to hear without shouting. "Sit there. Tidy those papers."
"What is it?" Tyrion looked at Cersei in confusion, his eyes blinking. White papers were in the boy's arms, looking too large for his tiny body.
"Just sit," Cersei ordered while rolling her eyes, having no intention of explaining that she was bored to death and needed a distraction.
Tyrion nodded obediently. He climbed down from his chair with difficulty, waddled carrying his load of paper, then climbed onto the chair opposite Cersei. He sat quietly, looking at his sister with a mixture of fear and hope. Waiting for her to speak.
Cersei looked at him for a moment, assessing. "What story did you make?" she asked finally.
Tyrion looked surprised. His mouth opened slightly. Yes, this was the first time Cersei, his older sister, was willing to indulge the boy's hobby. Honestly, Cersei just wanted to test him. Jaime and Maester Creylen always praised Tyrion's intelligence, saying that behind his deformed body lay a sharp mind. Cersei wanted to prove it herself. If he was indeed as clever as they said, at least this conversation would not be too torturous.
Puffing out his small chest, Tyrion placed the papers on the table, flattening them with his palms. His handwriting was still messy, large and untidy ink scrawls, but Cersei could see he was trying hard.
"It is a story about a man who will become king," Tyrion said, his eyes shining with a spirit that did not match his physical form.
"Will?" Cersei raised an eyebrow, a skeptical tone coloring her voice. "So he is not yet a king? Is he a prince waiting for his father to die? Or a usurper gathering an army?"
"No! Neither!" Tyrion shook his head vigorously, his voice almost shouting with enthusiasm. "He is not an ordinary noble. He is an ancient human. He fell asleep for thousands of years in the past, buried in ice or a crystal cave. He slept because he had absorbed pure dragon magic into his body, so much magic that it took centuries for him to digest the power."
Cersei fell silent for a moment. Ancient human. Dragon magic. It sounded like one of Jaime's tales, but with a darker twist. "Then?" she asked, signaling for Tyrion to continue. She had never heard of such a thing before.
"Then when he woke up," Tyrion continued, his hands moving to form explosive gestures, "he found that the world had gone on without him. The times had changed. In this future, magic no longer exists like in our world. The dragons are dead."
Tyrion's face turned serious, seemingly mimicking the grim expression he often saw on adults' faces. "But war is happening everywhere. Kingdoms are destroying each other. The people are suffering. So he comes, not as a conqueror, but as a savior. He uses his dragon magic power to heal the common folk who are victims of war. He repairs their burned houses, heals their wounds."
Cersei frowned deeply. She placed her cup gently on the saucer. The plot of the story sounded ridiculous to her. Politically nonsensical.
"Why save the common folk?" Cersei asked, her tone full of genuine incomprehension. "They are just sheep, Tyrion. They exist to be herded, sheared, or slaughtered if necessary. Your hero is wasting energy. With power that great, he could help one side, the strongest side, and work with them to end the war quickly. That way he could get a high position, wealth, or even a crown for himself."
Tyrion shook his head hard, his pale blonde hair swaying. "No, Cersei. You don't understand. I haven't thought it through to the end, but..." He looked at his paper, as if searching for an answer there. "Those warring sides, they have their own evil interests. One King wants land, the second King wants gold. It is impossible for them to make peace without destroying each other."
Tyrion looked at Cersei with a sharp gaze that was strange for a child his age. "They are also 'evil' in their own way. They don't care who gets trampled. So the hero of this story doesn't want to side with anyone. He becomes a Third Party. He is stronger than those kings."
"A lone third party will be crushed by the other two united by fear," Cersei countered coldly, channeling the wisdom she often heard from her Father. "Power without alliances is arrogance, Tyrion. Your hero is a fool. If he keeps healing the common folk, who will fund his army? Who will feed him? The common folk have no gold."
"He doesn't need gold!" Tyrion insisted. "He has magic!"
"Magic cannot be eaten," Cersei scoffed. "And the common folk he saves? As soon as they are healed, they will turn and betray him if offered a silver piece by the ruling king. That is basic human nature."
Tyrion fell silent. His small shoulders slumped slightly. Cersei's logic seemed to penetrate the fortress of his imagination. He looked to be thinking hard, his thick brows knitting together.
"Then..." Tyrion muttered softly, "what should he do?"
Cersei smiled thinly. "He must be firm. He cannot just be a healer. He must be a terrifying protector. He must make the people and other kings fear him, not just admire him."
Cersei leaned forward slightly, looking into her brother's eyes. "Listen, Tyrion. In the real world, or in this story of yours, kindness is a weakness if not accompanied by absolute power. If your hero wants to survive, he must stop being a traveling healer and start being a God."
Tyrion stared at Cersei, his mouth slightly open. He looked horrified yet fascinated by his sister's suggestion. He immediately grabbed the quill lying on the table, dipped it into the ink clumsily, and began to scribble something on his paper.
"Become a God..." Tyrion muttered. "He can make them stop fighting with the threat of destroying them with his magic."
"Exactly," Cersei said, leaning back in her chair with satisfaction. "Fear is more effective than gratitude."
They continued to talk for the rest of the morning. Tyrion told of the monsters his hero faced, and Cersei, in her haughty yet sharp way, offered critiques on how the monsters should be defeated, not with silly bravery, but with deceit and strategy. And more importantly, with absolute power.
For a moment, at that breakfast table, under the shadow of the war happening in Duskendale, Cersei forgot her annoyance at her brother's physique. She saw the seed of Lannister intelligence there, though still raw and covered by naive idealism that Jaime might have planted.
…
The sun had crept down from its peak, bathing the stone walls of Casterly Rock in warm golden light. Cersei sat in the spacious central solar, a room with high vaulted ceilings and thick rugs that muffled footsteps. She was reading a history book about Aegon's conquest, but her eyes more often watched the entrance. There was the sound of footsteps there.
When the heavy wooden door finally opened, Cersei closed her book with a satisfying thud.
"Good, look who's back," Cersei said, her voice breaking the silence of the room.
Jaime stepped inside. He wore a simple dark red tunic with a small golden lion embroidered on the left chest. His golden hair was a bit messy, blown by the sea breeze, but the most striking thing was the expression on his face. There was a silly smile playing on his lips, a smile that made his green eyes squint.
"Good afternoon, Cersei," Jaime greeted lightly, giving a casual nod far from court formalities.
Cersei did not return the smile. She straightened her back in the high-backed chair, looking at her twin with an appraising gaze. "Tyrion was looking for you all morning," she said, her tone full of accusation. "He was so annoying because he kept whining to see you. 'Where is Jaime? When is Jaime coming home?'. Truly, you spoil him until he cannot stay still."
Jaime stopped in the middle of the room, his smile fading slightly replaced by a patient expression. "Don't be too harsh on him, Cersei. He is just a child. It is natural if he wants to play." His eyes narrowed slightly, looking at Cersei suspiciously. "You didn't snap at him, did you?"
Cersei snorted, a sound that was unladylike but very expressive. "Do you think I have the energy to raise my voice at him? You overestimate his importance in my life. I just told him to sit still."
Jaime seemed to accept the answer, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
Cersei then tilted her head, observing her brother's face again. "Then," she asked, curiosity finally defeating her pride, "Why was there a smile on your face just now? You walked in like someone who just got a new toy. Is there happy news from Duskendale? Is the King finally dead? Or have you gone mad because your training helm hit a rock?"
"Duskendale?" Jaime shook his head, his face turning flat for a moment. "I know nothing of Duskendale. Uncle Tygett didn't get a new raven today. As far as I know, they are still stuck there. Father is still waiting."
Jaime then walked to the velvet sofa near Cersei and threw himself onto it with a long sigh. He stretched his legs, looking very comfortable.
"I just feel that today my plans all went smoothly," he said, staring at the painted ceiling. "And I am very happy. Sometimes, small things go your way and that is enough to make a good day."
Cersei raised one neat eyebrow. "Plans? What else are you doing anyway?"
She had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that Jaime's strange projects had results. His paper was everywhere now, on Father's desk, in the library, even in Tyrion's hands. It brought gold into Casterly Rock's coffers, and gold was power. So, if Jaime was planning something new, Cersei wanted to know. Knowledge was a weapon.
Jaime turned to her, and the smile turned into a mysterious grin. He winked one eye.
"Secret."
Cersei's blood boiled instantly. She hated it when Jaime did that. Hiding something from her, as if Cersei wasn't smart enough to understand.
"I won't tell you," Jaime continued with a light teasing tone. "Besides, this isn't something very important to you. Just... a new toy. A navigation aid."
"Navigation aid?" Cersei sneered. "You want to be a sailor now? You really are strange."
"Who knows," Jaime shrugged. "The world is vast, Cersei."
Cersei snorted again, losing interest because the topic sounded boring and technical. "Keep it to yourself then, do as you please with your new toy."
She picked up her book again, intending to ignore Jaime, but a memory flashed in her mind. "And one more thing," she said sharply, pointing at Jaime with her book. "Finish your story for Tyrion. Don't leave before it's done, or he will whine to me again about heroes and dragons. He makes up his own stories and my ears hurt hearing them."
Jaime's face turned a little guilty. He scratched the back of his head. "Ah, yes. I was just tired at the time." He smiled awkwardly. "How about you? Why don't you try telling him something before he sleeps? That is something a good older sister would do. You have a fine voice, Cersei."
Cersei looked at him as if Jaime had just suggested she throw herself into the sea. 'Why would I want to do that?' she thought with disgust. 'Spending precious time entertaining that creature?'
"No, thank you," Cersei replied coldly and firmly. "He is entirely yours. You are the one who spoils him, you take care of him."
"You are too"
"JAIME!"
Jaime's sentence was cut off by a loud shout echoing through the room. The sound of small footsteps running hurriedly was heard on the stone floor, fast and irregular.
Before Jaime could stand, a small figure darted into the room. Tyrion. He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, his face beaming with pure joy. He didn't stop when he reached the sofa; he jumped, headbutting into Jaime's embrace like an overly excited puppy.
"Oof!" Jaime grunted as Tyrion's large head hit his stomach.
"Oh, Tyrion," Jaime laughed, a warm and sincere laugh, as he caught his brother and lifted him onto his lap. Jaime's hand ruffled Tyrion's fine pale blonde hair. "You better not be too excited, little buddy. My chest hurts, and I just had lunch."
Tyrion giggled, his voice no longer annoying shrill like this morning, but full of happiness. "You're home! You're home!" he exclaimed, hugging Jaime's neck with his chubby arms. "Cersei said you went away again!"
Cersei just rolled her eyes and went back to pretending to read, though her ears remained alert. She observed the interaction from behind her book cover.
"I didn't go away, I was just doing something important," Jaime said gently, adjusting Tyrion's sitting position. "So, I heard you made your own story? Cersei said your story is about heroes and dragons?"
Tyrion's eyes widened. He glanced at Cersei with amazement. Then he looked back at Jaime with fiery spirit.
"Yes! He is an Ancient Man!" Tyrion began to tell the story, words tumbling out fast, tripping over each other with enthusiasm. "He woke up and the world was broken. War everywhere! So he used his magic. At first he healed people, but Cersei said that was stupid."
Jaime raised an eyebrow, glancing at Cersei again. Cersei did not react, her face as cold as ice.
"Oh? What did Cersei say?" Jaime asked, his tone interested.
"Cersei said," Tyrion mimicked his sister's haughty tone quite accurately, "that kindness without power is weakness. That people will betray him. So my hero must become a feared God! He will force those evil kings to stop fighting with threats!"
Jaime fell silent for a moment. He looked at Cersei with a gaze that was hard to interpret.
"A very... realistic suggestion," Jaime commented softly. He turned back to Tyrion. "And you agree?"
"Yes!" Tyrion nodded firmly. "Those kings won't listen if just asked nicely. They have to be afraid. So my hero will build a fortress of dragon crystal and anyone who breaks the peace will be... will be frozen. And he himself will become king!"
Jaime laughed. "Frozen? How cruel."
"But effective!" Tyrion exclaimed.
Cersei, from behind her book, felt the corner of her lips twitch forming a thin smile. 'At least he learns,' she thought.
"Alright, alright," Jaime said, patting Tyrion's back. "That sounds like a great story. Much better than mine. You must write it until it's finished."
"I ran out of paper," Tyrion admitted sadly.
"I will get you more. As much as you want," Jaime promised. "But now, how about I tell you the continuation of the Pinocchio story? About how he was swallowed by a whale?"
"A giant whale?!"
"Very big. As big as Casterly Rock!"
Cersei watched them in silence. She saw how Jaime patiently entertained every one of Tyrion's silly questions, how he made funny noises to mimic a whale, how he made the deformed child feel like the most important person in the world.
There was a weakness in Jaime, Cersei thought. A sentimental weakness. He was too soft. Too caring. In this harsh world, such softness could kill him.
However, seeing the laughter on Jaime's face, a laugh rarely seen when he was with Father or Uncle Tygett, Cersei felt a strange prick in her chest. Not jealousy, she convinced herself. She was not jealous of Tyrion. That was ridiculous. They were no longer soulmates anyway.
Maybe it was loneliness.
"I'm going back to my room," Cersei announced coldly, cutting off their laughter. "My head hurts hearing your noise."
Jaime turned, the smile still there. "Rest, Cersei. See you at dinner."
"See you, Cersei!" Tyrion exclaimed innocently.
...
I guess we'll have to see how this woman develops :'p, and at the same time calm down the atmosphere.
Don't forget to give Power Stones, :D, you can also read the chapters earlier at Patreon.com/Daario_W