Chương 26

Cersei Lannister Taking a sip of her wine, Cersei watched Robert Baratheon pace the solar like a caged bear. Back and forth he went, boots striking the Myrish carpet with heavy thuds, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The late morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Casterly Rock, casting long shadows across the room.

"I warned you," Robert said, stopping to point a thick finger at his dour brother.

"I warned you and Jon and Varys, that fucking snake. But you didn't listen, did you?" Across the room, Stannis Baratheon stood rigid as a soldier on parade, jaw working beneath his close-cropped beard. Cersei could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

"Well, you'll hear me now." Robert's voice rose, filling the solar with the kind of passion she had not heard from him in years.

"It shall be war. We will hunt them down even if we have to sail all the way to bloody Asshai and the very edge of the world." He looked different after the war in the Iron Islands, Cersei had to admit. Less pale, less gaunt beneath his beard. His shoulders had rounded with muscle again from swinging that ridiculous warhammer of his. Even the way he huffed now, face red with anger, gave him a semblance of his old self, the man who had won the throne, who had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident.

Not that it made him any less insufferable. Stannis remained rooted to his spot like a standing stone weathering a storm.

"Where?" The word scraped through his locked jaw. Robert stopped mid-stride.

"What?"

"Where are we to sail to, Your Grace?" Stannis continued, each word measured and deliberate.

"Did you even bother to read the missive, or did the words stop making sense after you saw 'Targaryen' written on the paper?"

"Careful now." Robert's voice dropped to a growl, the kind that had preceded violence in their early years of marriage. From his seat near the window, Lord Tywin Lannister spoke without raising his voice.

"Your brother is right, Your Grace. We must not act with haste." Cersei watched her father, noting the way he sat perfectly still, hands folded on the armrest of his chair. His green eyes, the same shade as her own, remained fixed on Robert with the patience of a man humoring a child's tantrum.

"The Lord Hand is clear the ships were well gone by the time he put people to follow them," Tywin continued.

"We don't know where they went. Where they're hiding. How many of them there are. Or if it was even the Targaryens themselves aboard those vessels."

"And?" Robert turned on her father, his face darkening further.

"Do nothing? That's your brilliant idea, Lannister? Sit on our arses and hope the dragon whelps just sail away?" Leaning forward, Cersei watched for her father's reaction. Tywin Lannister was not a man used to being spoken to like this. Not by kings, not by anyone. At least not anymore. And it surprised her to see such fire in her husband's voice, such actual conviction. Robert had been a pathetic sight for a while now. Sad to look at, like a mangy old hound that had outlived its usefulness.

But Cersei had not minded it overly much. It brought her some joy to know that Robert hated his life as much as she hated him, that his great victory and his precious throne had given him nothing but misery. The idea that she might one day wake to find he had thrown himself off his balcony in a drunken stupor had pleased her no less. She would look stunning in widow's black.

"We will act, Your Grace." Her father's voice remained level, though it had taken on an edge like cold steel.

"The Targaryens are a threat that must be eliminated. But we cannot fight ghosts. We need credible information of their whereabouts and numbers before we can strike decisively." Stannis shifted his weight, the leather of his boots creaking.

"Jon Arryn said they put out a notice to every ship leaving the city to send back word if any dragon sails are spotted. Ravens have also flown down the eastern coast from Massey's Hook to Sunspear."

"Then make preparations, Stannis." Robert began pacing again, the carpet muffling his heavy tread.

"We'll return to King's Landing tomorrow. Have word sent to every lord on the eastern coast to be ready with ships and men when I call on them. The Manderlys in the North, the Crownlanders, the Tarths and grandfather's lot—all of them. I want the royal fleet doubled. Tripled if we can manage it."

"We can't leave." Cersei set down her wine cup, the crystal chiming softly against the table. Robert rounded on her, blue eyes flashing.

"What did you say?" Meeting his glare with her own, Cersei lifted her chin. Robert had not sought her bed for more than a few years now, and had even stopped seeking out whores for a time during his melancholy. But the war had set something off in him. She had seen him take one of the serving wenches at the Rock before he set sail for the Iron Islands, pulling the girl into an alcove with all the discretion of a rutting bull. She had no wish to ever share the buffoon's bed again.

The thought of his weight pressing down on her, his wine-sour breath in her face, made her skin crawl. But if she wanted another child—and she did, desperately—she had to go through the motions of pretending to be his dutiful wife. She and Jaime had been more careful since Robert stopped coming to her chambers regularly. There had been some close calls. She had even been forced to ask Grand Maester Pycelle for moon tea once, claiming women's troubles, enduring his oily concern and knowing looks.

But now was perfect. She had spent the last moon sleeping with Jaime in her old childhood bed while Robert and her father were away at war. It had been sweet, like living through a fond memory of when they still lived at the Rock together, when the world was just the two of them and nothing else mattered. She wanted to conceive their next child here, where their love had first begun in truth. And for that to happen, Robert could not be absent when the timing needed to line up correctly.

"We will miss the whole tourney if we leave now," Cersei said, keeping her voice even.

"You think I give two shits about your father's damned tourney when there are dragonspawn out there disputing my reign?" Robert's face had gone nearly purple. They stared at each other across the solar, the air thick with mutual contempt. Cersei could feel Jaime's presence near the door, could sense him tensing, ready to intervene if Robert moved toward her. But her husband stayed where he was, fists clenched, breathing hard.

"My daughter is right," Tywin said. Robert's head snapped toward her father.

"If you leave now, you will light a fire under every Targaryen loyalist still hiding in the Seven Kingdoms." Rising from his chair with measured grace, Tywin moved to stand before one of the tall windows.

"It will give credence to their cause, when for now the sightings of the ships are being treated as just rumors in most of the realm."

"So I should just stay, then?" Robert's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Watch some men knock each other about like fools while the real war still waits for us out there?" He pointed east with one of his sausage-like fingers. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Tywin remained undeterred, hands clasped behind his back.

"The tourney is a show of strength and unity, Your Grace. Every kingdom but Dorne and the Ironborn themselves has sent representatives to celebrate your victory over the Greyjoys. To leave now sends the wrong message to allies and enemies alike. It tells them you are afraid. That the mere sight of dragon sails can send you fleeing back to your capital." From his position near Robert, Ser Barristan Selmy cleared his throat.

"Lord Tywin speaks true, Your Grace. Tourneys matter. They stay in people's minds longer than battles sometimes. The songs, the pageantry, the display of the realm united in celebration. These things have value."

"I wouldn't mind winning another one," Jaime said, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Gods, you yellow-haired shits…" Robert trailed off, then cut himself off with a growl of frustration. Stalking to the table, he braced both hands on its surface, head hanging between his shoulders. Silence stretched. Cersei watched him, watched the way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the way his fingers dug into the wood. For a moment she almost pitied him. Almost. Finally, Robert straightened.

"Fine. So be it." The words came out clipped, angry.

"We'll stay for your bloody tourney. But Stannis." He turned to his brother.

"You sail back to King's Landing with the royal fleet. Increase patrols along the coast. Send ships to Pentos, Braavos, Myr, Lys. Every corner of the world if you must. Find them. Find the Targaryens at all costs." Stannis gave a curt nod.

"It will be done, Your Grace."

"And send word to the Citadel. I want maesters scouring their records for any mention of where the dragonspawn might have fled. Old allies, distant holdings, anything." Robert's jaw worked.

"If they think they can threaten my reign, they'll learn the same lesson the Mad King did."

"Yes, Your Grace." Without another word, Stannis turned on his heel and strode from the solar, the door closing behind him with a heavy thud. Robert grabbed the wine jar from the table—Arbor gold, Cersei noted, one of her father's finest vintages—and headed for the door himself.

"I need some fucking air." Ser Barristan followed after his king, white cloak swirling. The door closed again, leaving only Cersei, her father, and Jaime in the solar.

"Well," Jaime said into the quiet, his smirk widening.

"That went better than expected. I thought for certain he'd throw something at you, Father. Or perhaps—""Be silent." Tywin's voice cut across the room. Jaime's smirk faltered. Moving from the window, Tywin returned to his chair and settled into it with the same precise movements he brought to everything.

"This is not a matter for your japes, Jaime. The Targaryen threat is real and must be taken seriously."

"I am taking it seriously," Jaime protested, though his tone remained light.

"That's why I offered to win the tourney. Show the realm that the Kingsguard stands ready to defend the crown from all threats, dragon or otherwise."

"You will do your duty as always," Tywin said dismissively.

"But this goes beyond tourneys and shows of martial prowess. I have already sent my own men to make inquiries, discreet ones, in places where the crown's agents will not think to look." Cersei leaned forward slightly.

"Where?"

"That is my concern." Her father's green eyes met hers.

"What matters is that we find them before they can gather their strength. Seven ships appeared in Blackwater Bay. Seven that we saw. How many others might there be? Velaryon took the Targaryen fleet along with Rhaella and Viserys. How many of those ships drowned in the storm that scoured Dragonstone? And how many Targaryen loyalists still wait in hiding, ready to rise the moment they show up on our shores again carrying a dragon banner?"

"Too many," Cersei said, thinking of Joffrey. Her baby—hers and Jaime's, though only the two of them knew the truth.

"We cannot allow any threat to Joffrey's birthright to go unanswered."

"Indeed." Tywin nodded approval.

"Your son will be king one day. We must ensure the realm he inherits is secure, free from the shadow of the dragons." A knock at the door interrupted them. At Tywin's call, a servant entered and bowed low.

"My lord, the knight you asked for is ready. He awaits your summons in the hall below."

"Good," Tywin said, then dismissed the man with the barest of nods. The servant bowed again and withdrew. Closing the door behind him, he left them in silence once more.

"Which knight?" Jaime asked, curiosity replacing his earlier levity.

"The new wielder of an Ironborn Valyrian steel sword." Tywin's expression remained neutral, but Cersei caught the glint in his eye, the same look he got when discussing a particularly advantageous trade agreement or political maneuver. Cersei perked up at that, setting down her wine cup. A Valyrian steel sword in the hands of some common-born knight? That was a waste of such a treasure.

"Ah, the Woodsman Knight." Jaime's interest was clearly piqued now.

"I've heard of him. They say he killed Ser Harras Harlaw in single combat and claimed Nightfall as his prize. Some even say he's the best swordsman in the realm now." A competitive edge entered his voice.

"I'd be glad to try my swordarm against dragonsteel. See if the stories are true. I doubt it holds a candle to Dawn." Cersei scoffed, shaking her head at her brother's density.

"You think Father summoned him for a friendly bout in the training yard?" Her brother blinked and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Think, Jaime. Father wouldn't waste time on lowborn knights unless there's something to be gained." Understanding dawned slowly on Jaime's face. She looked to her father, who watched them both with the patience of a man waiting for students to reach an obvious conclusion.

"You mean to take it from him."

"I mean to acquire it for our house," Tywin corrected.

"How that is accomplished remains to be seen. The knight earned it in fair combat and has the backing of the Tyrells, which complicates matters. But there are always... arrangements that can be made." Cersei felt a smile tug at her lips. The Tyrells were no match to her house, she knew that with the same certainty she knew the sky was blue.

"It would make a worthy gift for your grandson, Father," she said.

"Joffrey should have a Valyrian steel blade when he comes of age."

"Perhaps," Tywin said, his tone noncommittal.

"But it shall be a Lannister sword first and foremost. The details of its ultimate disposition can be determined later." A flicker of anger sparked in Cersei's chest. Of course. Her father would likely give it to Jaime to wield as a Kingsguard, putting it in service of the crown rather than ensuring it stayed in their direct line. But she knew better than to push him too hard on this now. There would be time to work on him later, to remind him that Joffrey was his grandson, his heir in truth if not in name.

If only her father knew how Lannister Joffrey truly was. If only he could see that the boy was his grandson through both his daughter and his son. Perhaps then he would understand that giving the sword to Joffrey was not just appropriate. It was right. But that truth could never be spoken. Not to him. Not to anyone. Standing, Cersei smoothed her gown and lifted her chin.

"Very well, Father. I look forward to seeing our family's new sword." She moved toward the door, aware of Jaime rising to follow.

"Do let me know how your... conversation with the knight proceeds."

"I will handle the matter appropriately," Tywin said, dismissing them with a slight wave of his hand. Cersei swept from the solar with Jaime behind her, the door closing on her father's calculating silence. They walked down the familiar corridors of the Rock, past tapestries she had known since childhood, past servants who bowed and averted their eyes. They did not go far before she pulled Jaime into an empty room, a small receiving chamber rarely used at this hour.

The door closed behind them, and suddenly they were alone in the dimness, afternoon light filtering through half-drawn curtains. Jaime looked surprised.

"Cersei, what is it?" She pressed herself against him, cutting off his words with her mouth on his. He responded immediately, arms coming around her, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled back, she was smiling.

"Robert will be deep in his cups within the hour," she said, running her hands up Jaime's chest.

"And Father will be occupied with his new acquisition. We have time." Understanding lit Jaime's eyes.

"Here? Now?"

"Why not?" Cersei's smile widened.

"We're at home, Jaime. In the Rock where we belong. Where we've always belonged." She thought of the child she would make with him here. Another golden son or daughter to secure the future, conceived in the home of their ancestors. And Robert would never know, would never suspect that the child she would present to him was not his at all. Jaime's hands found her waist, and Cersei let herself forget about Targaryens and tourneys and everything else beyond this moment, this room, this man who was hers and hers alone.

Outside, the sun continued its descent toward the western sea, painting Casterly Rock in shades of gold and crimson. Inside, Cersei Lannister planned for a future where her children would rule unchallenged, protected by Valyrian steel and Lannister gold and the secret that bound her to the only man she had ever truly loved.